Chapter 4: The Poor Englishman

Chapter 4

An old man’s hands made of sea salt and fish scales pulled a net over the side of a passing ship. Tiny crabs and small fish caught in the net plummeted back into the water and hand nets retrieved them to serve as breakfast for the crew. The seasoning for the meat was boiled over a stove fire and the crew gathered beneath the deck laughing and drinking. The older men sat at the head of the table and left first for bed. Their resolute, sun beaten faces and salty hair were a testament to both their men and fish that they were the children of the sea. Across the cabin, a bunk was occupied by a sick crew member who’s hand was cut a week prior with a rusty filet knife. The wound burned and his forehead followed suit. He shivered with heat and was naked with a cold sweat. He moaned and complained, and listened to stories passed by the captain. He whispered for a cold beer, and they gave him one. His face grew paler and he could no longer speak. His eyes lost their glow and his lips were bleached white. He scribbled his last words on a dollar bill, “The tide is high, and my seawall has broken. Lay me to sleep at the bottom of the sea.”

           ***

                 Jim stood at the edge of his boat still yawning and unshaven. His hands were clean, which meant the day hadn’t begun just yet and the morning sun poked holes in the fog that saddled along the sand bars. Hardin climbed into the boat as the ferry man hugged the stripped green wooden dock supports. The tide was high and the boat rocked as he helped Gordon catch his balance and into his seat. He untied the boat from the dock and threw the rope into a wooden chest beside the motor.

They cut through the fish fields again and watched the biggest boats go into port, coming back from a long, sleepless and sometimes fruitless endeavor into the rich reefs through the night. “You boys look exhausted.” Jim shouted over the motor.

Hardin followed Gordon briskly past the boathouse and around the corner to where his truck sat in the shade, sleeping with dew on its shoulders. He climbed into the driver’s side and gave Hardin the sign to hurry.

“What the devil is going on, Gordon?”

His forehead beaded with sweat and his breath was rapid. “Damnit, Hardin, this is why you shouldn’t have come.”

He tucked his chin into his chest and glanced at his shaking hands and continued, “Jim’s not human, I’m tellin’ ya.”

Hardin sat quietly waiting for some explanation but Gordon sat in a stupor until he turned the key and sped off; flinging dirt into the outhouse behind them and mixing dust with the settling fog. As the morning droned on, the driving continued until they came upon a familiar mountain and the sun had dried up all evidence of the night.

Gordon seemed shaken by his own reflection and Hardin saw him becoming a stranger. A man who’s conscience delivered him a prisoner to his own nightmares and repressed memories.

A black sail of smoke was climbing into the sky above the hills leading to the valley and the air was void of moisture but impregnated with ashes. Their senses heightened and it led them home, where Parker and a few others they had never seen before were fishing through a black mountain of ashes.  It seemed more dreadful and fearful than its neighbor wearing all white.

Gordon grew pale and Hardin gulped when one of the officers picked up the sharp head of a shovel and looked it over before tossing it aside. Parker was leaning against the mailbox beside the police car when he heard them speeding down the hill.

The motor popped and died as Parker approached the front of the truck and with one hand on his hip and the other pulling the front of his cap down, he squinted into the sky and said, “Storm’s comin Gordon, but there’s no fire to put out anyway; must of died hours ago.”

Two policemen grabbed the round pipe and carried it off and laid it beside the stove, standing gloriously unharmed.  Gordon turned away and laid his face into the side of the police car. “What do you want us to do, Gordon?”

He sat still for a moment before turning to Hardin and saying, “I don’t know Parker. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“We can clean this up pretty good. I can tell you what caused it too.”

He pointed to the front of the stove and said, “That door was unlatched when we found it, meaning someone left it open.”

Hardin turned pale and couldn’t recollect if he had shut that door or not.

The other policemen had stepped out of the ashes and were on the far side dusting their pant legs off when Parker continued, “You know Gordon, it wouldn’t have hurt you to rebuild this place anyway. I think I might know a guy who could get you the lumber real cheap. You could build it a lot higher off the ground this time. The bank’ll loan you the money, I don’t doubt.”

Hardin spoke up for the first time saying, “I’ll help you Gordon. It is the least I could do.”

Gordon forced a smile and said, “Well, I suppose we’ll be drivin’ back into town tonight Parker. You mind driving ahead of us? The lights on the front went out a long time ago and we’ll need to get to the docks.”

Parker glanced at Hardin and then to Gordon and said, “Sure! Just pull off to the side and let us get around you.”

He pulled out a whistle and gave it a quick blow; the policemen stepped carefully through the ashes and jumped into their cars and watched Gordon pull off. They pulled forward and Gordon followed them into the dark. Neither of them spoke a word until Gordon said, “We all make mistakes Hardin, so don’t fret too much. Just an accident, that’s all.”

Hardin watched the waves further out break, and then break again until they kissed the shore. The beach was empty for miles except for the company of the moon. The crops whistled as they rode up the smooth path. They heard laughing floating above the thick, tall corn crops barred off by an unpainted wooden gate. A poor dressed man mounted the fence and pulled himself over with a large knapsack around his elbow. He ducked below the fence line and slithered in the darkness, gathering his lost, stolen corn.

The wilderness ended abruptly and the civilized world was nibbling on the bread crust of the forest outlying the mountains. The parade of police cars ended at the dock and Parker had in his hand a stale, steam less cup of coffee in a tin mug. He sipped it and approached Gordon’s window saying, “Damn, Gordon you look like hell. I’ll get Jim to take you over. Sit tight.”

Gordon’s eyes were unresponsive and with an indifferent tone he said, “Thank you Parker, I appreciate it.”

                

Parker reached the boat house with Jim already opening the door. Jim’s lips were moving and he was gesturing him to come in. After a few moments, he returned laughing and looking back as he came upon the truck again saying, “He’ll get you now. He says the boat’s ready to go.”

               

Tossing the rest of his coffee into the brush, he tapped his tin mug against the trunk of the police car startling his company. They ran the short distance and filed through the car doors.

                

The sea was still very black and the overnight fishermen flooded the canals returning to shore. Hardin watched the boats, a shadow on the purple horizon pumping guiltless clouds into a warm breeze. Jim left his boathouse alive and damp from his morning bath. When he reached the end of the dock, he came to a sudden halt. A breathless moment came when the body of a dead sailor broke the water. For more than a minute, the sound of city commuters could be heard above the silence from across the sea.

Jim said quietly, “You boys wanna get on? I got some things I gotta do today.”

After the boat was released of bondage from the dock, their sullen faces were brightened by the dry crisp wind. They brushed the buoys with their wake and made a penetrating shadow into the shallow reef. The war between man and fish was finished as the fish had retreated deeper into the recesses of darkness beneath the limit of man’s hooks and nets.

The pulse of the city was depressed by something vicious and desperate. The hotel clock read eight forty one and the streets were asphyxiated by women, men and children standing with deathly pale faces. A woman screamed with one hand upward to the roof of a nearby hotel. The local crowd turned their sickly faces to see a man inching his feet onto the edge of the roof. His sobs silenced the crowd until he shut his sore red eyes and raised his arms. The rest of the mad act was filled with screams and blood and tears. A group of policemen dragged his broken body inside the hotel and locked the doors.

The city was a lonely dog cold and hungry, feasting on poisoned food with the devil standing behind it. There was blood trickling into the gutters from fights that broke out and shots fired. Broken glass gut the feet of shoeless children and mothers wept into the chest of husbands and sons that jumped from buildings and blew their brains out and all the while leaving the buildings to stand indifferently and the pistols to sleep on the cold concrete.

Gordon pulled Hardin into a barbershop across the congested street from the bank. A handful of men were crowded around a small radio that was buzzing from a busted speaker. A voice was commanding attention on the other end, “Today, October 24^th, 1929 there are multiple reports from both government and stock officials that there has been a devastating blow on the stock market. Company stocks have fallen into the point of complete annihilation and there are also reports of panic within the oval office. Moments ago, the heads of several banks in New York were seen coming together for a possible meeting and are preparing to make a statement. They also advise stock buyers and sellers to discontinue any transactions until further notice.”

“What the hell does that mean?” said Hardin with a pale and sweaty expression

“I dunno. I never bought that s**t.” Said Gordon with a masked face of worry

In an instant, the crowd gasped and another shot was heard outside the door. Blood sprayed onto the barbershop windows and oozed into cracks of the concrete. A thin trail of smoke left the pistol barrel and the small round hole in his head. The shot was the last noise made for more than five minutes as the crowd around him was in suspense waiting for a daughter, a wife or a mother to burst through them and grieve over him, but no one came.

Hardin left the barbershop while the silence continued and the bell hanging above the door rang alarmingly loud. Their eyes on him, he stood over the body of the nameless man and dragged him into the alleyway. Several men from the crowd ran forward and returned to their family in tears. He took the pistol from his hand and laid him out saying the Lord’s Prayer and trembling as he shut the dead man’s wide cloudy eyes.  He smeared the blood left on his hands into the porous red brick and rubbed his hands vigorously against his overalls. When he re entered the barbershop, Gordon was listening to a man explaining with color and despair but Gordon interrupted, “Hardin, get over here and tell me what the hell he’s sayin’.”

“Gordon, can we leave?”

Both of them stood without speaking before Gordon whispered as he passed him, “Lisa’s house.”

With afternoon seeping into the crowd, a sleepy mid day shower tranquilized the savage population. They huddled beneath the fruit canopies while their tarps became drenched and sank from continuous rainfall. Their eyes watched behind the shop’s glass windows. The air was not foul nor the sky black but the world’s misery persisted like the beating of a screen door in the wind.

A broken pocket watch kicked into the curb wrestled its way to the gutter. Mechanical guts and bits of glass began a blood trail to a damp and chilly place where other lost treasures went to die.

Gordon’s raincoat was shimmering black with rain dripping from loose threads on the sleeves. Their empty stomachs churned as they rested beneath the tin roof of an abandoned street cart. Gordon let out a loud, empty burp before saying, “Damn boots are heavy. Yours waterlogged too?”

               

Hardin patted his stomach softly and said, “Yes and I’m starving. I can’t run in these wet overalls anymore.”

                

“Ain’t too much further; she’s right down the road.”

               

A mouse sniffed the overturned boot’s laces then nibbled quietly. A thin puddle of water streaming from the boots bathed the rodent until it bolted away from a sudden shiver that came from Hardin. He sighed and felt his eyelids drooping as he said, “I’m getting cold. We need to hurry.”

               

The remaining few blocks was in the shadow of several robbed markets and small hotels. The window lights were glowing and the streets were covered with broken glass. They passed a dead policeman stabbed and shot several times with his body hanging over the window display of a meat market.  His gun and nightstick were stolen and his pants clung to his ankles. Hardin crept up to the body and jabbed his ribs then snatched his ankle and inspected the size of his shoes. He threw his boots aside and quickly donned the shoes when he saw his hands were coated in blood.

               

Lisa’s house was inviting with the green shutters wide open and candlelight orchestrating the dance of shadows against the living room walls. They sat on the porch for a moment as they tore their shoes off and shook their hair. Gordon’s beard glittered with rainfall that he stroked away until he felt it was dry. A devilish laugh from the living room broke the rhythm of the afternoon shower and gave them a sigh of relief when a young blonde woman opened the door. She covered her mouth with her hand and said, “Oh goodness, Mr. Winkley. Give me a minute to get you something to dry off.” Her eyes smiling and her dimples real in her cheeks, she continued, “Welcome back Mr. Wesley.”

                

They both nodded politely and she retreated to the kitchen and returned with Lisa and a young girl holding hand towels and wearing smiles. The young girl took Gordon by the elbow nervously and shamefully guided him upstairs when Hardin saw his feet moving lighter up the steps and his mouth was crooked in a sick smile.

                Lisa noticed the disgusted look in his face and said, “It’s not something he can help, you know. He’s just that way. And he’s right anyway; she does get paid and he always tips her handsomely. I wouldn’t be too concerned about her now. It’s when she steals a few years and Gordon doesn’t buy her any more is when you should worry. Maybe you’ll wanna buy her then.”

               

“No, Lisa I don’t like any of the women here.”

“Ah, Mr. Wesley, I was under a strong impression that I changed your mind last night.” She said coming closer to him and breathing against his neck

“Maybe I just need some more convincing.” His hands shivered and the forest fire of hormones that was fueled by her hands gripping his waste, spread to his eyes. 

“You’re shaking.” She said running her hands up and down his arms and then continued, “You know what room it is. I’ll be up in a moment with a tub and some hot water.”

He pounded up the steps and removed his sopping wet clothes and threw them beside a wooden dresser at the foot of the bed. He ran his hands down his chest and shook the water from his fingertips. Lisa came a few moments later with a large tin tub and laid it beside the bed. She retreated again and returned with two pitchers with steam rising above the gray metal rim and a sponge floating on the surface. She set them down on the dresser and shut the heavy wooden door, fixing her golden hair away from her cleavage. He sat on the bed nervously and stole looks at her preparing the water. She stood up straight and waved him over and when his toes touched the water, a lightning strike of warmth came over him. He collapsed into the tub and rested his arms beside his upright knees.

She ran the sponge up and down his back and said, “I heard the radio this morning. I know a bit about the stock market. Do you realize what this means?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea, Lisa.”

“It means the banks have no money and because everyone keeps their money in the bank, we share the same fate.” She stopped for a moment and looked down his jetting spine

He gripped the edge of the tub and turned to see her face. Tears reached her chin and she continued, “So I’m going away, tomorrow.”

A soft cry snuck beneath the doorway and they both turned their stares and listened to metal springs screeching from expanding and contracting. The skeleton key nested between Lisa’s breasts fell out against his ear. She grabbed his limp arm and scrubbed his hands clean and let the sponge wash off in the water, coloring it a dark red. When he opened his eyes and noticed the water, he jumped out and cowered in the corner behind the bed. Lisa stepped around the bed lightly and pulled the loose laces apart and showed him her naked body. He peeked through the hand over his face and leaned his head into her stomach. She ran her long soft fingers through his hair and pulled him onto the bed.

Beneath the covers they lied naked and warm. The tub water was less menacing and no longer steamed and a hot current ran under the door from the fireplace at the end of the hall. Suddenly, a scream was heard from the downstairs lobby and there were feet pounding the staircase. The room across the hall was torn open when a deep thundering voice said, “Gordon Winkley? You’re under the arrest for the murder of a government official.”

Hardin swung around and knocked the bedside lamp to the floor and Lisa glanced at him with utter confusion. The door to their room was kicked open moments later and a towering man in a black uniform stood with a white knuckle grip on his nightstick. His waxed expression and thoughtless eyes shot glances back and forth at Hardin and Lisa whose insides had turned to ice. The officer flicked his fingers and more surrounded the bed with their nightsticks drawn and a deadly impression in their demeanor. Their uniforms hugged them like a leech would an open wound. The officer in charge came to Hardin’s bedside and picked up his drenched overalls revealing the black leather shoes that were waterlogged and covered in blood. He reared back with his bludgeon and swung into Hardin’s head, landing a powerful blow against his ear. He felt something inside of his ear pop and an unbearable ringing followed the blood shooting from his head. He heard the guard’s uniform stretching to swing again and he threw up an arm to protect his face but he heard his fingers breaking and the bones in his hand coming through his skin. His eyes were burning from tears. He had no idea he was crying until he was wiping blood and snot from his face onto the pillow.  The room was quiet except for Lisa whimpering from beneath the bed and before he lost consciousness he heard the man say, “Put his clothes on and put him in the car with his friend.” 

Author's Note

Go crazy