In A Flicker

by George R. Lopez

  “Do you have undergarments for sale here?”

  “Yes sir. Right there in the corner, we have them in stock.” Clemens pointed to the back of the store, noting that his customer did not favor the prior topic.

  Feeling a little uneasy, a bit pressured, as if there was more to the irritation he felt than just his pants, Ethan needed to make this a short visit. He grabbed the first three pairs of undershorts and shirts he saw in his size, at least close enough to do.

  “These will be fine, Mr. Clemens. Thank you, sir.”

  Placing the garments on the counter, Ethan pulled the billfold from his pocket to make quick work of the transaction. He felt a sudden urgency to be on his way.

  Sensing Ethan’s mood, the tailor took the money, returning his change without uttering a word. As he wrapped the clothing, Clemens spoke once more as he tied the package with string to secure its contents.

  “The cobbler is on the corner of Whitechapel Road just past the hospital, across the street. You’ll find him a pleasant chap.”

  Ethan nodded in appreciation of all the old man’s assistance but knew he could only extend the olive branch of familiarity just so far, feeling the necessity to keep his interaction brief and to the point, no prying questions allowed. A nightmare had gotten to him, perceiving it to be an ominous forewarning to keep the tailor at arm’s length for his own protection and Clemens, as well. With a wave of the hand, Ethan walked out the door, the bundle tucked beneath his arm.

  Making his way back to Whitechapel Road in the direction from whence he’d come, he spotted the cobbler’s shop, having missed it passing by the first couple of times when he was either attempting to keep a low profile by looking at the ground or was too distracted, discreetly scratching some embarrassing part of his anatomy. Unlike the watchmaker’s shop or the tailor’s place, the cobbler shop had a window display of the products available. Ethan attributed that to the store being on one of the major thoroughfares prone to heavy foot traffic, as an enticement to prospective customers. Entering the store front he was met with a wide array of leather footwear to choose from, shelf upon shelf of this cobbler’s handiwork. Some shoes polished to perfection, others had a dull finish but he couldn’t help but notice the absence of signs denoting “manmade” materials, as was so often the case in his plastic fantastic century. It was a pleasant surprise. Pair after pair of shoes and boots staring at him, some with four or five grommets for men and far more for the women’s designs. A simpler style low-heel laced shoe was what he was seeking and, as luck would have it, they were here in abundance.

  Within minutes of his entrance, Ethan had chosen two pair, a prompt purchase made as the sales clerk watched amused, bundling one pair of new shoes along with four pairs of heavy woolen socks, another hasty choice made. Utilitarian by nature, Ethan’s approach to the purchase was pragmatic, not a shopping spree. These items served a purpose, getting him out of what he was in. Even before leaving the shop he removed his damp footwear, donning a new pair of shoes and socks to match his scratchy suit, secretly longing to quickly slip on a pair of underwear, as well! Ethan examined his “doctor” shoes, concluding that they would need some tender loving care to be salvaged and restored to their former condition. It had occurred to him to leave them with this cobbler for repair but that would create even more interaction, perhaps stirring suspicion, soliciting more prying questions, so he’d decided against it for the time being, pausing to pop open his timepiece. It was just before eleven.

  Carrying these articles in a store sack, along with the brown paper package from the tailor, Ethan did appear to be weighed down by the wares he’d bought to wear. Holding his wet shoes in hand, he began to head back in the direction of his lodging. Recalling that he had seen some additional housing along the way on Old Montague Street to be exact, Ethan remembered the place from his research, tenants routinely evicted for the lack of funds to pay the daily rent. He’d surely find a room available there, quite confident he would locate a suitable dormitory with a vacancy.

  Ethan carried on, continuing to make his way along Whitechapel Road. Looking up to see a local police constable dead ahead, he was walking directly toward him, looking directly at him. The officer greeted Ethan by blocking his path.

  “Morning, sir.” The bobby’s voice was cold and stern, all business and certainly curious about what business he’d been conducting in the area.

  “Good morning, constable.” Ethan replied, trying to look nonchalant.

  “You’re not from around here.” It wasn’t a question, more so an observation.

  Officers were trained to spot suspicious characters on the streets, those who did not appear to fit in. Through experience they learned to deduce an intention as they approached someone, watchful for any reaction. Ethan seemed odd, out of place to the bobby.

  “You appear to have your hands full, an armload, in fact.” The insinuation was obvious, an implicit accusation.

  “I do, indeed!” Ethan tried to play it cheerfully, fighting an urge to scratch his lower extremities the more nervous he became.

  “I’ve not seen you before.” Inspecting Ethan from head to toe, he continued on, “Just noticing those shoes you’re carrying. I have seen them in a store in the upscale part of London. Odd to see them around here. Strange to see a man dressed like you having those in your possession.”

  Considerate of the policeman’s observation, Ethan attempted to explain.

  “Of course, I clearly understand your confusion. I’m a doctor doing research in this area. I have dressed like this so the locals would be less apprehensive about my presence when approaching them and you don’t believe a single word I’m saying, do you?”

  “You say you’re a doctor, sir? May I see your personal identification? Medical documents?” The bobby extended his hand to receive verification of this story.

  Ethan put down the one package of underwear and the sack of socks and shoes so his hands would be free to reach into his vest pocket to retrieve then produce the papers that were actually tucked under a pile of clothing on the desk in his boarding room, for the sake of their protection. “Fuck me buggered.” He said in a low voice, nearly inaudible but the bobby heard it.

  “Pardon me, sir?” The officer asked, assuming a more authoritative stance.

  If Ethan didn’t know better, he’d think someone gave Colin the remote control to a video game and he was having one over on him! One in a series of unfortunate occurrences, this mishap told him it was not going to be a walk in the park research event thanks to this unavoidable human interaction. Dressed like a commoner and holding a pair of expensive shoes did look suspicious, walking with a scratchy groin and no personal identification? Blimey! Standing there for a moment, frozen in fear, lost in thought, Ethan had an epiphany when the building came into view just ahead of him.

  “The bank!”

  “Beggin’ your pardon, sir?”

  “Officer, look, I am sure you’ve heard this story before but truthfully, I’ve left my credentials at my residence. I can prove who I am! They can vouch for me over at the bank.” Pointing in the direction of the institution in plain sight, Ethan hoped the constable would be willing to take a short walk with him to resolve this inquiry. “My medical bag is in the vault.”

  “That bank over there, you say?” The bobby turned to see where he pointed.

  “Yes. Look, I understand your position, sir. If I were in your shoes, which look quite comfortable, by the way, I would also wonder why I was carrying these shoes. All I’m asking is that you take a brief walk with me to the bank and everything will be explained.” He punctuated his plea with the most innocent puppy dog eyes.

  The constable stared at Ethan and began tilting, rocking back and forth from his toes onto his heels, squinting skeptically, as if it might cause him to read the man’s mind, intuiting true intentions while rubbing his chin with a thumb and forefinger.

  “Alright sir, let’s go see about your bag at the bank, but no funny business.” />
  “No sir, none. Thank you, officer.”

  Walking silently beside the constable, feeling like nothing more than a common criminal under arrest, conspicuous in the extreme, embarrassed by the ordeal, he’d do his best to get through it. Sensing the many eyes upon him, this was not the low profile he’d intended to keep in the East End. Far from it. Entering the bank, Ethan hoped the tellers and management were the same, and to his good fortune they were. The manager, Mr. Edgewood stood from his desk seeing the officer in uniform first but as he approached them, recognizing his companion.

  “Doctor Bridgeman? Is that you, sir?” The manager inquired, a rather quizzical expression in his eyes. “Well, of course it is!” Extending his hand. “So sorry I didn’t recognize you...your attire.”

  “Doing some historical research in the area, Mr. Edgewood. Trying to blend in with the locals a little better.”

  “Ah, yes. The suit you wore yesterday was, shall we say, a cut above?”

  “Do you know this gentleman, sir?” The officer asked, lightening his tone.

  “Why, yes. One of our finest clients, a top physician of impeccable reputation.” Mr. Edgewood exaggerated his knowledge of the gent standing beside the officer. After all, money was money. For the Whitechapel district, this client’s deposit made the day before was monumental.

  “Well, then doctor, this all seems to be a misunderstanding. Good day, sir.”

  “Perfectly understandable. I thank you for doing your job constable and keeping the peace.” Ethan shook his hand and the policeman went on about his beat.

  With the lawman beyond earshot, the inquisitive manager drew closer to Ethan.

  “Is everything well, sir?” Edgewood asked in a hushed tone.

  “Yes, yes. Fine. A misunderstanding, indeed. He thought I stole my own shoes!”

  “Why are you dressed in this clothing, sir? What research are you conducting? If you don’t mind me asking.” Edgewood pried, curiosity getting the better of him.

  “Long story.” Ethan shook his head. “Long story. I think it would be wiser to keep my medical bag with me at all times. May I close out my safe deposit box?”

  “Will you be closing your account with us as well, sir?” Suddenly nervous, the banker cringed at the thought.

  “No. I’ll still need to keep the account open.”

  “Of course. Please keep it as long as you wish, Dr. Bridgeman. So glad to be of service. I shall return.” Relieved, he went to gather the necessary paperwork.

  Retrieving the bag from the banker, withdrawing a modicum of funds to replace what he’d spent shopping, Dr. Bridgeman was on his way once more. Traveling the rest of the way with his fancy shoes hidden inside the bag, Ethan did not expect any further delays in his plan but then he hadn’t expected the ones that already occurred. Making his way onto Commercial Street, nearing his current lodging Ethan planned to make a few adjustments to his wardrobe before going shopping for a new roof to place over his head.

  “Arthur. Arthur!” A female voice wafted across the street. He failed to respond, not recognizing his own 19th Century name.

  “Oh, shit! Is that me?” A shocking thought, he was afraid he’d said it aloud.

  Ethan looked back to see Maggie, his server from the Ten Bells Pub, addressing him by his fictitious name. Dodging the horse drawn carriages as they passed, she’d lifted her skirt to keep from dragging any remnants of a filthy street along with her. The gentleman paused, awaiting her arrival as she ran across the road.

  “Fancy meetin’ you here!” She began, excited to find him out and about.

  “And what are you doing out this early?” Ethan inquired.

  Her eyes seemed brighter than he remembered, that dark pub obscuring details of the woman he’d rediscovered in the daylight. Maggie had some facial lines and a bit of weight on her, yet there was a young maiden quality about her, as well. Her sparkling eyes appeared to burst forth from her round face as she smiled, obviously happy to make his acquaintance again, quite by chance.

  “Just checkin’ my work days at the pub. I’m on tonight if yer stoppin’ by.”

  Walking alongside him required two steps to each one of his, as she was only slightly above five feet tall. He slowed his pace to accommodate her own.

  “Well, if I get moved in time it’s in the cards, yes.”

  “You’re movin’?” Maggie exclaimed with concern and a hint of sorrow.

  “Just out of this place. Too many leaks. There are a few places on Old Montague I saw. Hopefully I’ll find a vacancy.”

  “You will. I know most o’ the lords who manage ‘em...they always have a few open. I can show ya if ya like.”

  “I really wouldn’t want to impose.”

  “No imposition at all, sir!” Ladylike as could be, Maggie curtsied.

  “Well I’m grateful for your assistance, ma’am.” Tipping his hat in a reciprocal gesture, he continued, “I just have to collect the rest of my belongings.”

  “Not ma’am. Maggie. I’ll come along with ya to help ya then.” Delighted to be in his company, happy to help, she’d taken a shine to him.

  Ethan couldn’t resist cracking a smile at Maggie’s energy. She looked up at him in much the same way his 21st Century Maggie did handing him the review forms at The Valley.

  “Come on.” Ethan gestured with his head. “It’s this way.”

  Walking together through the entrance of his lodging passing by the innkeeper’s window, an old man stuck his head out, yelling at the tenant and his guest.

  “OY! You can’t have any women in your room out of wedlock! Thems the rules or you’re gonna have to leave.”

  Ethan calmly looked at the man then Maggie and finally back to the man.

  “Well, I suppose it’s a good thing I’ll be moving out then.”

  Ethan continued walking toward the stairwell as Maggie followed, flipping off a rude gesture in the manager’s direction. Arriving in his room, he quickly tidied up, embarrassed by the water leakage and disheveled condition he’d left it in, especially self-conscious about undergarments hanging out the window to dry. He snagged them in an instant, tucking them into a coat laying on the desk.

  “Oh, no. This won’t do. This is no place for a doctor.” Maggie said, both hands on her hips. “This won’t do, at all.”

  Ethan looked completely puzzled, knowing he’d never said he was a physician during their chat the night before. Maggie seemed tickled by his little secret.

  “How did you know?”

  Nodding at the medical bag he had placed aside while scampering around doing clean-up duty, she’d actually noticed it first when running across the street and said nothing at the time.

  “Of course.” Ethan shook his head. “Gives me away every time.”

  “I’ve a few doctors as customers. I recognized it.” With that, she pitched in.

  “You don’t have to do that.” Ethan said as she began handling his clothing.

  “Ya don’t understand women very well, do ya? It’s what we do best.”

  “Folding?” He wrongly guessed the intention of her comment.

  “Takin’ care of men!” She promptly corrected him.

  Grabbing up the rest of his belongings they began the trek over to Old Montague Street to rows of lodgings where Maggie knew several innkeepers. Along the way he told her his research required him to dress down and fit in, though he kept it all quite vague and non-descript. Then he told her the story of his run-in with a bobby, leaving out the money part and his nightmarish experience as it rained in his room. Maggie had never asked him anything personal either during the walk or in the pub the night before. She seemed to respect his privacy or simply did not care to pry.

  Ethan asked how everybody learned to walk in the shoes they wore, referencing those nicer shoes he was more accustomed to, the ones that almost got him arrested. They also talked about itchy pants which were, by then, driving him out of his mind. There was not a thing he could do about it in mixed company, particularl
y in such close proximity. He had to grin and bear it. Maggie suggested he purchase the type of stockings worn over socks up to the knee. Ethan was drinking it all in, absorbing the minutia of local idiosyncrasies and colloquialisms of those who survived these times. So much of what was provided in the written history never really tapped into the experiences he’d already taken in over just the past two days.

  Nearing the end of the road at the corners of Old Montague, Hanbury Street and Bakers Row were several lodging houses. Ethan and Maggie walked past a few that were closer, yet she did not even give them a second glance. He decided to trust her judgment. Apparently she had a specific location in mind. Where these three roads met was one particular place along Bakers Row which seemed well kept and freshly painted. There were some floral arrangements in the front, reminding him of ones adorning the façade of his flat in Oxford, the place he missed the most with all the comforts of home.

  “Wait here.” Maggie instructed Ethan as she walked to the manager’s window. A stout man who looked to be in his fifties appeared at her beckon call, smiling at her as she’d waved. Although Ethan couldn’t hear their conversation it looked as if it was friendly and familiar. The man peered past Maggie at his potential tenant as he nodded in agreement. Calling him over, she introduced him to the innkeeper as Mr. Arthur Bridgeman, discreetly, not to give him away, preserving his privacy to the title of “Doctor”.

  “Nigel here has a perfect room on the second floor for ya, close to the first floor kitchen n’ privy, a wash basin all to y’self in the room, love.”

  Ethan was shocked by the powers this woman possessed. It all seemed too easy.

  “How much per night, sir?” Ethan inquired.

  “The room usually goes for ten but for a friend of, uh, Maggie, you can have it for sixpence a night, long as you like.” Nigel seemed a pleasant enough chap.

  “Does it leak?” Ethan had to ask, prompting the confused expression from the man in the window.

  Maggie burst into laughter, telling Nigel to ignore the question as Ethan pulled out the coins to cover his first night in a new, less humbling abode.