Chapter Nineteen
My first day at the daily labour pool started before seven in the morning. As advised, I showed up without a hangover. Not that I would have minded drinking myself into oblivion the night before, I’d always had time for that. It’s just that common sense came to roost at nightfall and was still around to tuck me in as I fell asleep.
I went to bed early. I had to find some work, and toilsome work was what I found. It wasn’t brain surgery; I found myself unloading an eighteen-wheeler whose trailer was packed full of frozen turkeys with a shriveled up little guy, a wino who looked like was about to give way to the cold sweats at any time. I did his work and I did mine. He tried to help, but he wasn’t much good for anything in his condition and I told him to relax.
When we got back to the office I said nothing about the old guy I’d worked with and he got paid the same as I did. Outside the door he was profuse in thanking me.
I was in a hurry and said, “Sure, sure, anytime.”
I went to a neighbourhood restaurant and once there bought some cigarettes and a meal. I walked on, to a bar near the Salvation Army that had the dumb luck of being situated near a hostel that harboured some of the most chronically addicted alcoholics in the country. When I entered there was my grizzled buddy filling his glass from a lonely pitcher of beer. Suddenly, I didn’t want to drink alone and, so, I approached him.
“Mind if I sit down.”
“For you, my friend, I would roll out the red carpet.” We laughed and I sat. We started to drink, neither of us having much idea that we would fast become friends.
“What’s your name?” I asked, an innocent icebreaker.
“What’s it to you?” I was about to reply when he burst out laughing.
“Emile,” he said, “had you goin’ there, didn’t I?”
“Yeah,” I replied, “I guess your brand of humour skipped my generation.”
“Ah, don’t worry,” he replied, “ah, waitress, another round, no make it a double round. Two pitchers.” He held up two fingers.
“How does your generation like that?”
”We like it just fine,” I said, “just fine.”
Emile became a good friend. We drank together, worked at the same place, slept under the same roof and in the same huge room in the mornings ate the worker’s breakfast together - cold eggs, toast and a warmish cup of dirty water masquerading as coffee. Every morning Emile would wonder the same thing.
“If that’s the worker’s breakfast what the hell do they give the unemployed?”
Late one night we sat in the can, careful not to make too much noise while we passed a bottle of cheap sherry, our second that evening.
“Hey, Emile,” I said, “did you ever hear what happened to that guy back in Ontario – London, Ontario, I think it was.”
“Ah, what guy’s that?”
“I don’t know, some Jerry guy, I don’t know his last name.”
“You have to be more specific, there are a lot of guys in Ontario who go by the name of Jerry.”
“Ah, well, he was trying to break some kind of record.”
“Break a record, eh, well that takes a lot of guts, but I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“I remember,” I announced triumphantly.
“Shhh, Carmen, you’ll get us tossed out.”
“Well,” I answered, “I wouldn’t mind getting out of this dump anyways.”
“Me too,” Emile replied.
“We should,” I responded.
“We should and, mark my words Carmen, we will…we will.”
“Emile,” I said, starting to slur my words a bit,” it was the radio.”
“What, my friend, what was the radio?”
“Jerry in Ontario was trying to set a record for spending the most hours listening to the radio without stopping. Whatever happened to Jerry, Emile?”
“I don’t know Carmen,” he answered me, “but I think he’ll go deaf if he keeps that up.”
I started to laugh and so did he. He’d laugh and then he’d put his finger to his lips. Finally he stood wobbly to his feet and then did a little dance. He handed me what was left in the bottle, whispered, “See you tomorrow,” and was gone. In my mind I saw Emile and me, always trying to find our way to a better place, where getting by would be easier.
It wasn’t long after our conversation that Emile and I were sitting in the daily labour office, putting in time. It wasn’t very likely that we would get any work, it being mid-afternoon. One of the benefits though, of working there, was the open door policy extended to employees who were considered productive.
You could come in out of the cold and warm up, under the pretext of looking for work. Since the Salvation Army wouldn’t let anyone indoors except for meals and after supper, well, we were stuck. No money, a few smokes, all the wine drank up.
“Emile?”
“Huh, yeah, wait Carmen, look at the ass on that, jeez.”
“Hey, Emile, stop looking at the girlie books, would you? She could be your granddaughter.”
“ Right you are, I’m just a dirty old man…” Now he was singing his heart out, making the melody up as he went along, singing,
“I’m a dirty old man, that’s what I am, who gives a good goddamn?”
It had to have been two weeks at least since I had taken antipsychotic medication and Emile’s singing was starting to get on my nerves. I had disposed of my pills, finally, by taking them to the Harbour Light Centre and telling them I was trying to quit. They had accepted my tablets gladly, too enthusiastically I thought.
Emile knew he was bugging me. I suppose it must have shown because he stopped abruptly and said, “What’s with you? You don’t like my singing?”
“Emile, I just want to get the hell out of here, you know, like we talked about. Remember?”
“Oh yeah, I remember. Let me ask you though, Carmen, how do you know I’m not some type of old fag?” I laughed. He smiled.
“Emile,” I said, “you’re some type of old drunk, but you’re not queer, that I know. You’re not, are you?” I would have been disappointed if he’d said yes, but he didn’t.
“No I’m not. And you’re right. We should get the hell out here.”
“But it’s so friggin’ cold out, man, that’s the problem,” I said, telling him what he and everyone else, even those who could go indoors during the day, already knew.
We decided that if we wore extra socks, sweaters, long underwear and the like we could make it to the coast with little trouble. If we worked for a couple of days we would have enough money to bundle up and take our chances. Emile told me we could sleep on the beach any time of the year once we reached shores of Vancouver.
Everything went according to plan. Two weeks later, the night before we were to leave, we spent half our money on alcohol, cigarettes and food at a greasy spoon, acting as though money never had been a problem.
Emile was mopping up the last of the gravy off his plate with a piece of bread. I noticed something funny.
“What’s that,” I asked, smiling.
“What’s what?”
“That ring on your finger,” I replied, “where did you get that?”
“Oh I bought this off some kid at the shelter,” he replied nonchalantly, “good dinner for a change, eh?”
“Emile, is that a mood ring?”
“Yes sir, that’s what he said when I bought it.”
“Nobody wears those anymore,” I informed him, “they’re not really in style.”
“So,” he countered, “you’re saying I’m a nobody who’s behind the times. Thanks Carmen, somehow you just made me feel my age.”
“Ah, c’mon, I didn’t mean to do that,” I said, “here let me buy you a cold one. Waitress, waitress, two bottles of Blue.”
“That’s very nice pal,” he said, “but, well,” here he looked at the gray tabletop a moment, scarred, with black diamonds on it, “Carmen,” he looked straight into my eyes, “you know I drink Ex, you son of a bitch.” And we laughed
The next morning, at 6:30 I was roused by the lights being turned on and someone yelling, “C’mon, guys, up and at ‘em.” I never did figure out who the guy was that was hollering every morning. I was used to him by then, he couldn’t piss me off anymore. Emile, who’d moved into my dorm, came over as I was getting dressed.
“How much money do you have,” he asked, a worried look on his face.
“Don’t know,” I answered, “let me look. Jeez, it’s cold.”
“It’s colder out there,” he informed me, pointing at the window, “You sure you’re up for this?”
“I have fifteen dollars, Emile, fifteen friggin’ dollars. Where did it all go”?
“Carmen, my ring is saying that we should leave after breakfast. We won’t tell them we’re leaving, just in case we have to come back tonight.”
“You sure you want to do this?” I asked him.
“Yes,” he said, “I have to. I can’t stand this anymore. I’m going even if I have to go by myself.”
“I’m coming with you,” I said and with that it was settled.