Страница 30 из 41
Soon he became aware of the need for a drink and he bought a bottle of muscatel, putting the bottle in his pocket before leaving the store. He rushed from the vicinity of the store and went to a deserted, safe area to take a drink. He rejoined the activity of the street, huddled deep in his coat against the cold, a feeling of triumph and love flowing through his body as he turned his back to the cold wind, aware of his bodys warmth.
He decided he would work again tonight so he made the rounds of the joints and soon was standing in front of a couple of sinks. He took his coat off and hung it right by the sink where he could keep an eye on it.
Spring passed easily enough. During the day if it got too hot in the sun he would go to the shady side of the street and though it was warm he was still able to wear his coat. A few times he was tempted to take off his coat and carry it, but he knew better. That was inviting trouble. It would be too easy for some guy to knock into him while his partner yanked the coat away from him and run down the street. No, he could not afford to take chances. No matter how hot it got, his coat was always valuable to winos. It could always be hocked for at least a jug.
And anyway, there was always the relief of the evening, his coat being perfect for the springtime coolness. Then, as the spring rains passed, everything seemed to be a little easier. For a month or so he had a great apartment. He had found a huge packing crate and spent hours dragging and pushing it to the remains of an old building. It took a tremendous amount of will to not just leave it in the first room of the building, but to push and tug it around corners and back into the recesses of the building where it would not so easily be stumbled upon. He set it up in a corner and cleared some of the debris away from it, not too large an area, he did not want it obvious that someone was living there, he did not want to leave a trail, just enough so he could roll in and out of bed without stumbling over something. And he found an old calendar, maybe 5 or 6 years old, and hung it on a wall of the crate. He collected a few rags and the remains of a cushion and made himself the semblance of a chair.
He spent as much time as possible in his apartment, loving the feeling of security and the smell of the wood, and if it was exceptionally warm, as it usually was in the summer, even at night, he would take off his coat and wrap it carefully in some old plastic sheets he had found and bury it under the rubble where it could not be seen, secure in the knowledge that no matter what happened his coat would be safe. Then he would lean back in his chair and drink and sing or talk softly to himself, or sometimes be silent and watch the various creatures that shared the abandoned buildings and lots with him, coming from deep under the buildings, from caverns of deserted cellars or basements, or perhaps deeper, from some unknown area beyond that created by man and his buildings, where darkness and moisture fostered and nurtured its strange inhabitants. He watched with fear and disgust trying, from time to time, to close his eyes and thus, eliminate them from his world, but he was more afraid of not knowing where they were, so he was forced, beyond will and desire, to watch them when they suddenly appeared, scuttled about, then froze still and looked, eyes reflecting light, eyes that seemed to get brighter and larger the longer he stared, so large and bright they appeared to leave the creatures head and float toward him… his body tense, becoming stiff, a panic and nausea knotting and constricting his gut and throat…
until the creatures suddenly ran, jumped, or just disappeared into the unknown and fearsome world they had come from.
Sometimes he watched, fascinated, as they would slink through the shadows and rubble, unaware of his presence, intent upon not being seen by their prey or predators. One day, while there was still faint light finding its way into the i
Eventually he allowed his face to relax and his eyes to slowly open… everything looked as before. Then he removed his hands from his ears… and sighed with relief at the silence. He took a long, long drink and sighed again and soon realized that his mind was back into an old habit of wondering about the violence of nature but pushed it from his mind with another long drink.
The coat was hot in the summer, even in the shade, if you could find any, but he did not mind. He knew that another winter would be here before you knew it and he was going to survive that winter. His coat would guarantee that.
He gave up his dishwashing in the summer and did a lot of junking. He got a push cart as early in the morning as possible and stayed away from the row and the gangs who might rip him off when he collected a load of paper, or after he got his money. And, when he was safely distant, he took off his coat and put it in the cart and covered it with paper.
He concentrated on paper and cardbord. He had seen some other junkmen bring in sinks and pieces of furniture and haggle with the guy and eventually get a few dollars, but when he tried it the guy told him what he had wasnt worth anything and he just nodded and went out again for a load of paper. He knew the guy was going to keep it and sell it, but he just didnt know how to bargain with him the way the other guys did. So he stayed with cardboard and paper.
He took it nice and easy, knowing he would get enough for what he needed. He always had a bottle of muscatel with him and would take a drink from time to time and go leisurely about his work. Usually he would stop in some greasy spoon and fill himself with beans and bread before going back to his apartment with a bottle of muscatel.