Harmon Beggar's Lament

1. Auflage 2016
ISBN: 978-1-68419-913-6
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 406 Seiten

There is a never-ending recession lingering overhead and the specter of things ever returning to their previous peak seems unlikely. Politicians speak of solutions as the economy struggles to gain traction, but no-one thinks much about those at the bottom rung. Left to fend for themselves in a dying industrial city, homeless duo Horace and Alvie stumble their way through life. Their only goal is to survive. But when things take an unexpected turn for the worse, they are forced to separate and make their way without each other. Horace goes from misadventure to misadventure as he is forced to adapt and deal with his own greatest enemy: himself.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Harmon, David

Leseproben

CHAPTER TWO
The fog was heavy the next morning. The streets were emptier than usual, and the corner of Hopper and Seventh was as still as the grave. Years of neglect had taken their toll, and what had once been a prosperous neighborhood had fallen into disrepair and squalor. The last business hanging on was an independently owned gas station at the corner. The pharmacy, the hardware store, and the Chinese restaurant had long been vacated. Two figures stirred inside the remnants of the hardware store. Horace, the older of the two, coughed and rubbed his hands together. He greeted the morning with a smile as breath whistled through his slanted mouth. As he stretched, a series of audible pops and cracks sounded. Alvie, larger and far sturdier-looking, arose and began this day the same as any other, by pacing back and forth. He carefully plotted his route, doing a circuit around the interior and making contact with each corner of the room. Alvie took comfort in this obsessive ritual; it was his way of coping with otherwise crippling worry. After a few minutes, Alvie’s pace slowed and then he came to a stop, but he remained agitated. “Horace, what are we going to do today? We can’t go out begging if you can’t walk. At least, we can’t go anyplace good. It’s too far away.” “Alvie, you’ve got to learn to take life as it comes. Nine times out of ten, what you worry about never happens. Let’s see what’s what before we lose our heads.” Alvie, a former soldier, was used to taking orders. Marching in line. Obeying without question. That way of life had fallen by the wayside, but old habits were hard to break. In this moment of uncertainty, he leaned on Horace’s leadership, waiting for any weighty decisions to be made for him. Horace got up and tested his leg. He got up without much difficulty, but when he tried to take a step, his foot gave out and he collapsed. Stubbornly rising, he tried again. This time he leaned against the side of the wall and tried to steady himself, but the effort remained too painful. He fell again, an involuntary moan of anguish escaping his lips. He looked to Alvie and shrugged his shoulders. “Now you can freak out.” Alvie complied. He started pacing again, a perceptible look of terror on his face. He abruptly stopped. Horace had begun to shake. Alvie bent over to check on his ailing friend, and heard a low howl of laughter. The noise grew louder and louder. “Man, you’re too high-strung. I was messing with you. We’ll manage somehow. Haven’t we always?” “But, but … Horace,” Alvie protested. “Your leg.” In all honesty, Horace didn’t mind the situation all that much. It could be quite liberating to be one of the dispossessed. Sure there was no job to go to, but there was also no boss to answer to. There were no bills to fret over, no creditors making hounding phone calls. If one’s goal was to shed responsibility and live a carefree existence, one could do worse than become homeless. He postulated that Alvie hadn’t gotten into the proper spirit of it yet, focusing on the downsides and what not. Horace considered things. “There’s no helping it. We’ll scavenge for cans. Let us take advantage of our fine state’s generous deposit rates.” “But, Horace,” Alvie started to whine again. “And by we, I mean you. You’ll have to push me around in the cart. I’m not going to sit alone in this deathtrap all day.” As if on cue, a plume of dust cascaded down from the ceiling. Horace gave Alvie a stern look, which settled the matter once and for all. Alvie took great pains to conceal their emergence from the dilapidated building. He discovered that although their improvised tarp had blown away during the night, no one had disturbed yesterday’s fortuitous find. He wrinkled his nose and wiped moisture off the cart handle before helping his companion into the basket. Alvie wheeled the cart with obvious reluctance. Horace, by contrast, was enjoying himself. He was as happy as Alvie was miserable. He surfaced with an old moth-ridden Stetson hat he had saved for just such an occasion. It gave him the bearing of an adventurer—an adventurer lost in the jungle who hadn’t bathed in weeks, but an adventurer nonetheless. This picture was made complete one block later, when Horace spied a long piece of twisted corrugated metal shaped into a fine point and lying by the curb. With agility befitting a gymnast half his age, he plucked it up while in the cart and with Alvie in midstride. Any intrepid adventurer worth his salt needed a suitable walking stick. Nearing their can-scavenging grounds, they passed by a familiar mainstay of the neighborhood, the local mission. Once operated under the auspices of a now-defunct sect of Anglicanism, the mission had been taken over in recent years by a more aggressive and radical form of evangelicalism. Reverend Pete, the street preacher, was an established part of the local color and one of the main reasons the pair, as down and out as they were, chose not to patronize the establishment in anything but the worst winter weather. It was also one of their major objections to scavenging for cans at all. Pete’s mission was located in a strategic location that made a detour more than a little impractical. Pete seemed to always be outside, always looking for souls to reap in the harvest. Naively, they hoped they could skirt by that day and avoid being noticed, but their efforts were in vain. Pete spotted them right off. The shopping cart and the adventuring outfit were too conspicuous to avoid detection. Reverend Pete stood on the corner per usual. He was delivering a lively sermon to a disinterested audience of one. Seeing the opportunity to enlarge his congregation, he shoved a tract into the hand of his lone listener, who dropped it and walked away. Pete motioned to Horace and Alvie to join him as he moved toward the entrance to the mission. His eyes bulged out in excited anticipation as he wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. The pair scowled but did as he asked. They were reliant on him during the harshest winter nights, and experience had taught them to prepare for all contingencies. Reverend Pete was confused by the shopping cart. He attempted to prod Horace out of his seat, but the man snarled and brandished his adventuring stick. Alvie stood back with his hands up, as unsure of his friend’s intentions as anyone. For a brief moment, Alvie had a flash of PTSD and started to gasp for air. Reverend Pete defused the situation, albeit reluctantly. He didn’t need an ugly incident on his front doorstep. He apologized and allowed the shopping cart to pass through the mission’s doors. Reverend Pete led them inside the mission to a dusty alcove where he had set up his office. It was filled with piles of paper work and boxes stacked on a sturdy-looking desk. Horace remained in the cart as Alvie took a seat on a folding chair. They waited as the Reverend began to deliver a jeremiad in the cadence of a well-rehearsed Sunday sermon. “Boys, I’m in the business of bringing souls to Christ and dragging men up from the very pits of hell.” He paused to wipe his face with the handkerchief again. “Boys, I’m gonna tell you straight. Business is bad. This whole city is awash in rot and vice. The forces of Beel-zebub himself conspire against my ministerial influence.” “I’m gonna get to the point. Horace, Alvie, you have reputations as being men of …” Pete stopped, searching for the right word. “Men of resourcefulness.” Alvie leaned down to Horace and whispered, “I don’t like where this is going. Let’s get out of here.” Horace shook his head in disagreement and motioned with his hand to Pete to continue. “Boys, I need your help, and I’m willing to make certain considerations.” Horace’s face betrayed no emotion. The conversation had become a two-way dance, a subtle test of wills. Alvie, afraid of incurring the wrath of either party, remained quiet. Reverend Pete’s face was half-obscured by the piles of paper work on his desk, and Horace’s because of the awkward way he was angled in the shopping cart. No eye contact was made. They stared more through each other than at each other. “What do you want, and why do you want us?” Horace dropped his walking stick into the cart and removed his hat, maneuvering the matted hair out of his face. “Well,” Reverend Pete sputtered, “I’m seeking to expand the scope of my operations. It’s a real mess out there.” Horace cut him off. “Reverend, make your point.” “I want you to hand out some tracts for me. Maybe persuade a few of your friends to stop by. That’s all. The good news doesn’t spread itself without a little help.” Horace winked and motioned to Alvie that it was time to leave. “Wait a minute. I know what you’re thinking, but this is an opportunity of unusual import. I’ve been out here a while, boys, and I recognize desperation when I see it. If you’ll let me, I’ll deputize you and authorize you to act in my stead. I’ll remain here, continuing my good work, and you can perform outreach to these woeful sinners. I promise that you’ll be rewarded both in this life and in the one to come.” Alvie started to walk out, but Horace yanked him aside for an impromptu conference. “What do we have to lose?” Horace argued. “But Horace, I don’t want to work for him. He makes me nervous. Why would he pay us for that?” “Why? Who cares why.” “But he didn’t say how much he’d pay us.” “Don’t be so shortsighted, Alvie. Reverend Pete will be...