by David Barry
He was still tired, exhausted, as if he was drugged. A strange buzzing sound echoed through his brain, and nothing about him seemed real. For a moment he was completely disoriented and hadn’t a clue where he was. Then gradually it came back to him. The escape from Philadelphia, the snowstorm and his arrival in New York. . And the most wonderful meal he’d ever eaten. His eyes wandered around the cubicle and he was able to focus on his situation. But as he didn’t have a watch, he had no idea how long he’d been asleep. He needed to get out of here as soon as possible, just in case he’d outstayed his welcome.
As he weaved his way through the still-busy restaurant, he was relieved to see that nobody paid him the slightest attention. Not a single waiter glanced at him. The way to remain anonymous in this teeming city, he realized, was to relax and not behave suspiciously, looking over his shoulder with fear. Melt into the crowd like he belonged here.
Outside, it was still freezing cold. He turned the corner of his jacket up and, with shoulders hunched, walked along the street looking for an employment agency. As he passed a jewelry store, the clock informed him that he’d been asleep for less than an hour. But his cat-nap seemed to have done the trick. He felt able to cope and think clearly now.
He found an employment agency only three blocks away from the restaurant and went inside. A clerk with lanky brown hair sat at a paper-strewn desk and stifled a yawn. She barely looked up as he entered. Her hand, nail varnish cracked and peeling on her fingers, gestured insolently to a chair in front of her desk.
‘Take a seat. ‘
He sat and waited while she finished reading a document. He watched her enjoying the little power she possessed before finally pushing the paper to one side and staring at him.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘what can I do for you?’
‘I’m looking for a job. ‘
A quick appraisal as she took in his dowdy appearance. She sniffed almost belligerently, and said, ‘Do you have references?’
Bill shook his head. ‘I’ve been unemployed for some time now. That’s why I’ve come to New York looking for work. ‘
‘When did you last have a job?’
‘About three years ago. In Detroit. I worked as a hospital porter. I’ve often done that sort of work, looking after elderly sick people. I know how to care for them. ‘
She brightened visibly, and became more animated. Bill watched with some amusement as a flurry of efficiency propelled her into reaching for an application form from a desk drawer. Perhaps it was because he’d chosen a job at the bottom end of the market. She could easily find that type of employment, and she had the employment agency commission to consider.
She handed him the application form and a pen, and he filled it in, giving his name as Edward Lynch. As she accepted the completed form, he saw the faint glimmer of a smile, teasing the edges of her mouth. It wasn’t much but it was the best she could manage.
‘There is always a demand for a hospital orderly,’ she said. ‘I’ll ring around. Come back in an hour and I might be able to fix you up. ‘
He thanked her, went outside to the bitter street again, and walked aimlessly around for an hour, stopping only to purchase a cheap watch at a small shopping mall.
When he returned to the employment agency, the clerk looked up, and there was the same hint of a smile struggling to surface.
‘You’re in luck,’ she said ‘The Farm Colony on Staten Island needs an orderly. Eighty dollars a month - not much I know - but you get your board and lodging. ‘ She handed him an introductory card to give to his prospective employer. ‘I hope it works out. ‘
‘It sounds like just what I’m looking for,’ said Bill.
He had never spoken a truer word in his life. It was his last remaining chance to make something of his life. If he got the job, it would be his first properly paid honest employment since working in a munitions factory in 1917.
Thirty years. It had to be some sort of record.
Chapter Twenty Three
March, 1947
There were one hundred and twenty rooms in Ward 16, sixty on either side, divided by a long narrow strip like a runway. They were cubicles rather than rooms, each with a bed, chair and clothes locker. Although staff referred to them as rooms, these cubicles were missing a fourth wall and had no doors. It was Bill’s job to keep sixty of these cubicles clean, as well as other menial fetching-and-carrying tasks for the ‘guests’ - as Bill called them (he refused to refer to them as inmates, having been institutionalized for twenty out of his forty-eight years). The ruler of Ward 16 was Mrs Chadwick, a matriarchal domineering woman, whose standards of cleanliness and efficiency were gargantuan and efficient to the point of possessiveness, for this was her domain, her world, and nothing was allowed to sully its smooth running.
As he was mopping the floor in Room Number Eighteen late one Monday afternoon, while its occupant was in the recreation room watching TV, Bill felt the shadow of Mrs Chadwick’s presence falling across the bed. He turned and caught her stern expression, but this was softened by the halo of light coming from the window of the cubicle opposite; her red hair and the sunlight gave her a classical splendor, as if she had stepped out of a renaissance painting. This contrasted with the missionary blue of her eyes, and her unblemished complexion was as starched as her pristine uniform. Bill felt humbled by this holy matriarch.
‘Eddie!’ she snapped. ‘That mark!’
Bill looked down to the place where she was pointing. All he saw was a lovely clean floor.
‘What mark?’
She sighed deeply, shook her head with profound frustration and grabbed the mop from him. ‘If you want a job to be well done,’ she moaned, ‘there is nothing for it but to do it yourself. ‘
She began mopping furiously, and sure enough, Bill saw the object of her irritation, the vague horseshoe outline of a heel. The imprint vanished, and satisfied that she had expunged the culprit, she handed the mop back to Bill and gave him a thin, triumphant smile.
He was tempted to tell her that throughout most of his adult life he had had to keep his cell spotless, less he incurred penalties far more severe than her disapproval. But, of course, he kept quiet. He needed this job. This was his sixth week. Thankfully he had passed the two week trial period and was now accepted as part of the permanent staff.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, when he realized she expected an explanation. ‘I was working as hard as I could. I guess I just missed that bit. Must’ve been the sunlight. ‘
Nurse Chadwick stared at him like a bird of prey about to swoop. ‘Don’t make excuses,’ she said. Then her eyes softened, and she added, ‘You look tired, Eddie. Let me get you a glass of orange juice. Keep up your strength. ‘
She swept off to get him the drink, and he watched her upright figure swishing along the aisle. In the first three weeks he’d worked here, he’d often he’d been tempted to tell her what she could do with her job; but just when he felt he’d reached the end of his tether, she did something as disarming as this thoughtful gesture. He knew that her irritation was due to her own high standards of cleanliness and dedication to her job, and he became even more determined to stick with the job. He thought of Dr Schwarz, and how he’d like to prove to him that he could adjust to a normal life.
He lay on his bed in the dormitory, reading A Farewell to Arms. Much as he enjoyed being left alone to read, he couldn’t concentrate. All the other male employees with whom he shared the dormitory were absent, but he worried that some of them distrusted him, simply because he was not a drinker and kept pretty much to himself. They were nearly all itinerant workers, going from one hospital to another; and they were all heavy drinkers, if not alcoholics. Most of their wages went on booze. Sometimes they just disappeared, gone in a haze of alcohol; then, when they sobered up, they found another job. Often the hospital in which a man worked would give him back his ol
d job. And Farm Colony was no exception. The most recent employee to go on a bender was Jim Stringer. He stayed sober for some time, managed to save a bit of money, then went out for a few beers one night and returned a fortnight later from a binge that lasted until his money ran out.
‘Eddie!’
Jim Stringer suddenly appeared in the doorway. He grinned as he raised a pint bottle of bourbon, like he was sharing a secret with Bill, then staggered over to Bill’s bed, and sat down heavily on the edge. Bill sighed and put the Hemingway to one side.
‘You don’t drink, do you?’ Stringer said.
It was more statement than question, and Bill knew it was part accusation. Whereas he’d been seeking anonymity, trying to blend in and not stand out from the crowd, the opposite had happened. He was different because he was not a part of the drinking culture.
‘I like a drink like the next man,’ he said. ‘I’m just trying to ease up.’
Stringer thrust the bottle under Bill’s nose. ‘Here, why not join me in a little drink?’
Bill was aware he was being tested. He accepted the bottle and gulped a generous measure. It was foul. The worst drink he’d ever tasted. His throat burned and the heat lit up his stomach like a furnace.
‘That packs a hellava good punch, Jim,’ Bill managed as calmly as his burning larynx would allow.
He saw the shifty, suspicious look in Jim’s eyes disappear.
‘Whadda yah say we catch a movie some night?’
Bill nodded and smiled. ‘Yeah, I’d like that. ‘
He was accepted. They were buddies.
Bill became devoted to his sixty ‘guests’, and spent a great deal of time getting to know them and listening to their life histories. Most had been rejected by their families and friends and were in Farm Colony to await a visit from the person they most feared. And once this visitor called, it was Bill’s job to put the departed guest into a box and wheel him to the morgue. Although he had witnessed death and violence in his time, Bill liked most of these elderly men, and it always saddened him when they died. He became personally involved with them, and tried to bring what little comfort he could to them, in what little time they had left. One evening, he was making his way towards Ward 16, intending to spend some time with poor arthritic old Mr Calman, a mission beyond the call of duty, when an excited whoop caused him to stop in his tracks. It was Ethel Langster, the nurse’s aide. She was carrying a copy of the Daily News.
‘Hello, Willie Sutton,’ she said.
What he had feared most hit him like a battering ram and he hoped the shock didn’t show on his face.
‘Willie who?’ he said nonchalantly. ‘What are you talking about?’
She showed him the newspaper. A big jewelry store had been hit for $200,000 and they were pointing the finger at Willie the Actor. Bill took in the information at a glance and laughed lightly.
‘That’s a lot of money. If I were Willie Sutton, you think I’d be at Farm Colony on eighty a month?’
Ethel was staring closely at him. Then she took the paper back and studied the photograph. ‘You must admit, you look very like him. ‘
‘You’re right. I do. But then I believe we all have a doppelganger somewhere. ‘
Ethel looked blank. ‘A what?’
‘Sorry. A double. Almost a twin. ‘
‘Oh, I see what you mean. ‘
Bill decided his best bet was to pursue this line of reasoning.
‘You must have mistaken someone for a close friend or relative before now. It’s happened to me quite a few times. You see someone you think you know, you approach them, and it turns out to be a complete stranger. ‘
Her face lit up as she remembered an incident. ‘Hey! I know what you mean. I remember one time, years ago, I thought I saw my boyfriend staring into the window of a delicatessen, and I prodded him in the back. It was so embarrassing. The man was as surprised as I was. Only he was nothing like my boyfriend. Just from behind.‘
‘Some people do bear an uncanny resemblance to other people, though. ‘
Ethel laughed. ‘Like you and Willie Sutton. ‘
‘He’s an ordinary looking guy,’ Bill said. ‘I’ll bet there are lots of men who look like that. ‘
‘And, as you say, you’d hardly be working at Farm Colony if you’d robbed all those banks. ‘
Bill grinned at this foolish notion and said, ‘I must get on to see, Mr Calman. ‘
As he walked away, she called after him, ‘I can’t see a bank robber looking after the sick like you do. You’re a good man, Eddie. ‘
He thought he’d convinced her. But the incident had shaken him, made him feel insecure. He hoped and prayed she didn’t gossip and show the newspaper to anyone else, discussing his uncanny resemblance to Willie the Actor.
Chapter Twenty Four
August, 1949
Now a trusted and respected employee of Farm Colony, Bill had been promoted to work in Ward 20, a women’s ward. Apart from the slight pay increase, he was flattered to be given this responsibility. Working on a women’s ward was a job that was allocated to only the most reliable and dependable of hospital porters. It was in Ward 20 that he met Mary Corbett, an Irish nurse’s aide. A short, cheerful woman, with green-grey eyes and dark brown hair, she had sailed for America in 1938, following her three brothers over. She had worked hard for ten years and managed to save enough money to buy a small, two-storey house not far from Farm Colony. When Bill heard she was going to place an advertisement in a Staten Island newspaper to take in a boarder, he dashed off at the end of his shift and caught up with her in the hospital grounds.
‘I know you’re probably in a hurry to get home,’ he said, ‘but I wonder if I could have a quick word, Mary. ‘
She gave him a broad smile. ‘Yes, Bill. What is it?’
Bill loved the lilt of her Cork accent, unchanged since the day she sailed for America.
‘I heard you’re going to advertise for a boarder. ‘
A small, puzzled frown wrinkled her brow and the top of her nose.
‘The thing is,’ he continued, a little breathlessly, ‘I’d like to apply for the room, and it would save you having to advertise. ‘
‘Why would you want to do that? Seeing as Farm Colony provides you with free accommodation. ‘
‘It’s just that I’ve never felt comfortable in the dormitory. Most of the other employees are drinkers. And I’d like my own room. It would be worth it for that alone. ‘
She hesitated. ‘I - I’ll have to think about, Bill. It’s just that I haven’t made up my mind about letting a room just yet. It was just an idea. ‘ She looked embarrassed. ‘No, I’m sorry. That’s not true. I had made up my mind to take in a boarder, it’s just that I’d like to think about your proposal. I’d like a little time. I hope you understand. ‘
He smiled at her. She was the most honest and sincere person he had ever met, and was incapable of telling even the smallest of white lies.
‘Of course,’ he said, ‘I can’t blame you for wanting to sleep on it. ‘
‘Thanks, Bill. I’m glad you understand. I’ll see you tomorrow. ‘
‘I’ll be here,’ he said, cheerfully.
He watched her walking towards the hospital gates and gave her a wave when she looked back. As he walked towards the dormitory, he thought about the luxury and safety of having a room of his own, sharing a house with someone who didn’t have a suspicious mind. For some time now, living in the dormitory had become his worst enemy. When he was working, cleaning the ward, he felt secure. And talking to the patients, he was the perfect listener, hearing all their problems, and they never quizzed him about his past. But when he tried to relax after work, feelings of unease grew to tormenting proportions. Whenever the other guys in the dormitory probed him about his past, he could see the suspicious look t
hat came into their eyes, even though he always stuck to the same bland story and tried to tell them as little as possible. They suspected he had something to hide, and maybe it was only a matter of time before one of them stumbled on the truth.
As Bill knew she would, Mary Corbett made enquiries about him from other members of staff at Farm Colony, and he felt confident they would vouch for him. She also had a word with some of the patients in Ward 20, and was particularly impressed by his gentle patience in comforting them and listening to their life histories.
Three days after his request to board at Mary Corbett’s house, she approached him in the hospital grounds, where he liked to walk during his lunch break. As soon as he saw her expression, the beatific way she smiled at him, he knew he’d been accepted.
‘Well, Bill,’ she said, ‘you come highly recommended by staff and patients. I’d be honored to have you as my boarder. ‘
He returned her radiant smile. ‘Thank you, Mary. I’m really grateful. A house, with a room of my own. . . ‘
‘You really weren’t happy at the dormitory, were you?’
‘Glad to be out of it. I didn’t fit in, seeing as I’m not a drinker. ‘
‘Well, you may find my home a little on the small side. . . ‘ Mary began.
‘I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ Bill assured her. ‘When can I move in?’
‘How about Sunday? Early afternoon. I go to church in the morning. ‘
Bill grinned happily. ‘Sunday it is. ‘
Mary’s house was a red-brick building, comfortably furnished, with a living room and kitchen on the ground floor and two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs Although it was quite small, after two years in a dormitory, it was like a palace to Bill. Each evening, as he returned after a hard day at the hospital, he enjoyed the luxury of relaxing in his own room, his own four walls, often leaving the door open. There was a small yard at the back of the house, and later on in the evening, when the sun had lost its fierceness, he enjoyed sitting outside, listening to Mary talking about her family and life back in the old country. For the first time since his arrival at Farm Colony, he felt content and secure. Bill Sutton had been discarded. He was Eddie Lynch now, going straight, proving to himself that he could make something of his life.