Chapter 3: The Poor Englishman

Bundled up beneath the sheets, Hardin watched the old man rocking with grit teeth and pursed lips as smoke rings hovered over the balcony railing and dispersing with a swift breeze. His heavy burrowing eyes squinted towards the black forest and the shadowy tops of its highest branches and his restless fingers tapped the armrests until he said, “I’ve been wonderin lately if I could ask you for a favor.”

            Hardin slid out of bed and tip toed across the room in a pair of white long johns and adjusted the logs in the stove and stirred the leftover stew. He looked over at Gordon and admired his shimmering beard and slick white hair combed back and he said, “Well, a favor is the least I could do.”

            “It won’t be easy I think.” He said circling the cabin with a pointer finger, “I wanna build a wall that’ll go round the cabin durin’ the months I get a lot of runoff from the mountains.”

            “I’m sure that won’t be too hard for two men to handle. When were you thinking we could get started?”

            Gordon waved his hand in the air and said, “Not for a few more days at least. Don’t wanna keep hurtin’ yourself. I’ll get the stones from town and whenever you feel up to it, we’ll get goin but the minute I think you can’t handle no more, we’re finished. Deal?”

            Hardin smirked and said, “You have my word, Gordon.”

            Gordon pursed his lips again and let the delicate smoke ring into the moist autumn evening, “I can’t stand havin’ to replace the stilts when the bottoms rot out when the water stands. Jonas don’t like it either because he’s gotta walk through it.”

            Hardin listened from the edge of the bed to the moaning porch as the old man rocked back and forth in the failing sun. The creaking chair was in harmony with the crickets that chirped and the frogs played a dull croak as the birds whistled a sharp piercing song and together, they were the night.

            When Gordon finally stood up, he limped across the cabin to the pot and stirred the stew once more before grabbing bowls and shaking ground pepper and sea salt into each bowl before they feasted.

            When dinner was finished, they sat together in front of the stove in high back dinner chairs in their long johns and smoked strong Virginian tobacco. It was grown between two cattle fields and sprayed with liquid cow manure once a week to fertilize the soil beyond compare. It was fine and smooth and the ashes smelled of wood soaked in cinnamon and rubbed with ginger. They held the pipes to their noses when the ashes had been thrown out and they rubbed the black smudges away after the pipes had been set atop the mantle above the fire.

            “American tobacco is quite the commodity in Europe, were you aware?”

            “No, I had no idea.” Gordon said, reveling with a grin from his swelled pride.

            “The French are your best customers. What do you suppose that means?”

           

Gordon leaned back and rested his head against the back of his chair and said, “Everyone wants to feel a little American every now and then. It’s about taking advantage of freedom and sucking it up and spitting it right back out again.”

            Hardin laughed and said, “We have the same liberties in England as you do here.”

            “It ain’t the same. We fought you for it and now you want me to believe you ain’t lost nothin’. We won everything that day I think.”

            “You could be right. But I didn’t really lose anything, because there was nothing to lose.”

            “Manifest Destiny, Hardin.”

            They smiled and turned to watch the fire comb the breeze as it bled through the cracks beneath the door and the windows. When a thin line of light gripped the treetops they prepared for bed and Gordon disturbed the silence, “I’ll be gone all day tomorrow getting the cement and stones together in town. If you’re up to it there’s a shovel beneath the house you can grab and clear a nice ring for us.”

            “I can take care of that, sure Gordon.”

            “Good, and remember don’t go hurtin yourself for nothin.”

            “I would never think to do such a thing!”

            “That’s a good boy. We get started; we could be done before the cold hits. Cold mud is the worst kind.”

            “I know, believe me.”

            “G’night Hardin.”

            “Goodnight Gordon.”

            With unkempt hair and a stiff lip, Hardin found the shovel beneath the house and surveyed the land from the mailbox. The air was sticky and any light that came through the clouds was choked until they were vomited back towards the sun. Farmers stood outside in the fields with their arms outstretched and their palms facing the sky hoping the looming clouds would permit their miserable faces to shower the fields. When they finally passed and no rain came, Hardin gripped the shovel and began digging heavy stones from deep beneath the dry mud that was cracked and split.

            The humidity swarmed in but it was intermittent being only broken by a breeze cooled by the frosty mountain air and warmed again by the trees and the stagnant marsh water. Hardin smoked this air with full, deep breaths and coughed hard when he didn’t catch the cloud of dust coming from across the fields. He watched the roads as he thrusted the shovel beneath the watermelon sized stone and listened for a puttering engine to bounce along the potholes to the driveway carrying a full load of stones and cement.  

            The night came to Hardin like company you’ve had a thousand times and they always brought with them a misshapen bowl of misery or a silver platter of joy and fortune. His relief from setting the shovel beneath the cabin hung at his feet until his eyes couldn’t see past the moon lit window from the steaming tub.

He lied in the water with a hot rag over his eyes and his arms hung over the sides. His skin tingled like someone lightly stabbing him with a dull screwdriver. His fingers pulsed with pain from holding a shovel and digging all afternoon with no fingernails and his ears were weary from catching every subtle noise, searching for the sound of an engine passing along the sea breeze and the valley’s dusty roads. Gordon didn’t return that night and he lied in bed wondering why for almost an hour. He let the grip on those thoughts loosen and his curious mind was content.

            The tide came in and exchanged gifts with the weeds sweeping the sand. The bent aluminum cans rusted on both ends, served as a temporary home for a vulnerable hermit crab. Bottom feeding predators bruised their long snouts jamming them into the open side for an easy meal. Meanwhile, a bigger fish sat in the shadows of the local reef with great big empty eyes as they waited for their meal to kick up dirt in a frenzy trying to get to the defenseless crab cowering in the bottom of the can. The gulls skipped against the edge of the seawall while others cleaned themselves perched on the buoys that rocked with the current.

The farmers tasted the thick salty air and watched the horizon for a storm. Hardin got out of bed and stripped the sheets from his bleeding palms and roasted coffee above the stove. He gazed at the untouched peaks of the mountains and saw a small avalanche swallow its oldest thick skinned trees scattered along the base. He found Old Man Mountain was not much different from the mother of the sea.

His hands were sore and stiff as he tried to tie his boot strings. His breathing was heavy while he was bent over and he grunted and groaned but eventually sat against the high back chair and rested his swollen hands on his knees. He shut his eyes and decided, without warning that he was going to go into the city.

He walked down the dusty roads and watched the billowy clouds parade together like a herd of animals that didn’t belong. The valley’s thick roadside brush and thin crooked trees were gray and the long drawn faces of his passing neighbors were expecting an inevitable shower. The water was standing in some spots in the road, sometimes as deep as eight inches and fifteen feet in length. He went around them and insects grazed and buzzed against his ears and clung to his worn overalls.

The blood red clouds were smeared across the sky and the ocean side was still gray and the sea dogs that sat outside the fish house were sniffing the air and clutching one knee exclaiming, “Gonna rain, I know it. My knee’s been hurtin all day.”

When his feet tapped against the dock, he came up close to the old men sitting outside and their breath was cut short until the man closest to the door reached up and tugged him by the sleeve and said in a solemn understanding, “I’ve seen men like you before. How long were ya’ out there?”

Hardin felt the fingers loosen and he looked at the old man and saw the deep white scars in his lips and he said, “I don’t really know. Around thirty-one hours.”

The two old men turned to each other and their eyes met. He looked back and replied, “You’re the only one that made it?”

“I don’t know just yet.”

“Yes ya do. You know damn well you’re the only one. It’s not somethin’ to be sorry about ya’ know. You’re a navy man, am I right?”

“English Navy…”

“Damn Brits still can’t steer a boat. Whadja’ do? Run into a buoy?” The old sea dog said while laughing and slapping his sore knee.

Hardin opened his mouth to say something but instead he continued down the pier until he saw a younger man with thick blonde hair covered in white paint leaning over the docks. He painted the name, “Karis” in a navy blue tint on the rear panel of a catamaran. The current jostled the boats and water sprayed onto the docks when a wave slapped the smooth black rocks stacked against the sea wall. He wasted no time when he approached him and he said, “I need a ferry to the city.”

The young man pushed away from the catamaran and caught his balance and replied, “When?”

“Right now, I’m supposed to meet Gordon Winkley up there.”

“Well when you seen him, let em know we’re even.” He said with a wide grin as he walked past him towards the boat house.

Hardin followed him to the door until he stopped and said, “Stay here; I’ll just be a minute. My name’s Jim by the way. No shakes; my hands are covered in paint.”

After a few minutes, Jim said a few words to the old men beside the door and came out drying his hands with a thin red handkerchief. “Now what’s your name?”

“Hardin. What do you think of New Jersey?”

“I think it’s the devil’s playground, but I just ferry the demons there and back. I hear a lot of stories from folks comin from the city back home. I’m like the barber you share all your best rumors with, or an answered phone call with no one on the other end. I let ‘em vent until they’ve got nothin else to tell and then they step on the dock and I don’t see them again until the next weekend. Even on a Sunday afternoon and the holy water hadn’t dried from their fingers yet.”

The boat was smaller than the average fishing vessel. It had thick red leather seats for women to sit while they were ferried across the water. It held no more than eight and it was well kept and dry. The motor purred beneath their feet and Jim stood at the wheel with his head coming up above the wind shield, whipping his hair back. They dipped and skipped across the water and the motor drowned out Jim’s soft humming. They passed by fishing boats with the motor dead until they were through the sunken nets.

When they reached the white top waves, Jim cranked the motor up and they passed the docks again and the city looked golden and bronze with the sanguine setting sun and the lights coming from the buildings that towered near the middle of the city. The surrounding buildings reminded him of small children trying to light up in the shadows of their father. The oldest and ugliest buildings at the outskirts near the water were slimy and gray with metal barrels close by, hosting a small collection of men gathered around the fire that was sinking deeper into the ashes at the bottom.

The women in long tight silver dresses with shimmering white stones and white gloves checked their makeup in a passing diner window. Their heels clicked and echoed down the alley ways and their purses beat against their hips and their long strides. They pulled the feather from their hair and let it run against their naked backs. With a sly smile and a can-do attitude, these women were capable of anything.   

His feet planted against the edge of the dock, Jim anchored the boat down and held his hands on his hips and said, “Don’t forget to tell Gordon we’re even. He ain’t gonna like it and he might pitch a fit about it but that carburetor only lasted me six months anyway.”

“Absolutely Jim, thank you so much for the ride.”

“Not a problem; just remember, if you think you shouldn’t go down somewhere then you probably ain’t supposed to. Stick to your gut feelins’ Hardin and you’ll have a good time.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that.”

Jim untied the boat from the pier and sped off in reverse into the twilight towards the fishing boats sitting still out in the bay. When he reached the boat house, a short red haired girl came out and said, “You ain’t from here. Where are you headed?”

“I’m looking for a friend of mine. His name is Gordon Winkley.”

“Mr. Winkley? He passed by here yesterday and I haven’t seen him since. He should still be here. You keep your head down and you’ll get to him eventually.”

“Keep my head down? Why?”

“He likes to visit some of the brothels in the north east side of town. That’s nice if you’re his friend an’ all but most of those fellas don’t give a damn. You ask some of the girls around there and you’ll find him. Just be on your best behavior.”

“Brilliant, thank you.”

“Anyone tell you your lips are bleeding?”

He touched his fingers to his lips and felt the blood bubbling through the cracks. He smeared it into the waist of his overalls and the red haired girl disappeared for a moment before coming back with a hand towel. She brought it to his lips and wiped the blood away gently while she breathed softly against his neck. Her eyes were half closed and a brilliant green and her high cheek bones pushed her lips into a full smile. When she drew away, she ran the cloth through her hands and said, “All gone. You look ready for the dance now! Night’s comin’ and this ain’t the place to be when you’re all beat up like that. You’re askin for a mugging.”

She glanced over her shoulder and pointed at two gates held together loosely by a chain and continued, “Head through there and take a right on that street and when you see the city cart tracks, just follow ‘em till you see a sign that says, “Lisa’s house.” Gordon’ll be in there if my hunch is right. Keep your head down and stay out of the shadows. I’ll see you tomorrow I hope.”

When she entered the small dockside store, she disappeared behind the shelves and Hardin peeked in through the screen door before setting his hands deep into his overall pockets and listening to the bell of the cart running on the tracks. The factories along the sea wall created another layer of black clouds that hovered over the downtown, raining tiny black particles that filled their noses and made their eyes water. It dried their mouths and ate through the humidity in the air.

He walked along the tracks and heard the smooth city streets pitting and padding beneath his feet. The sidewalks had a light crowd passing the dim street lamps. The high pitch laughing of a woman and the swooshing of clear unlabeled bottles of liquor in the hands of sad men came and went while the bars window lights burned and buzzed. People stumbled through the club doors out onto the sidewalk and joined the others. The wind made by the street cars brought upon him memories of bullets whizzing by, disappearing like a firefly in the dark.

He touched his lips again and stopped when he felt the blood running down his chin. A doorman stood beneath a canopy in front of a luxurious hotel with a name he couldn’t pronounce. The top half of his face was in shadows until he approached the curb and helped a woman from her car. Another man, much younger, came out with a similar outfit but instead he grabbed the luggage and followed the old couple through the double doors.  The doorman waved the car away and Hardin walked up in the light when the man looked towards him. His mouth was drawn down and he stood waiting for Hardin to speak up until he said, “Well? What the hell you standin’ there for? Get movin’ if you’re lookin for money.”

“It’s nothing like that sir. I’m just hoping you could tell me how much further Lisa’s house is?”

He chuckled quietly and then coughed, returning his grim expression and he said, “Two more blocks and don’t come around here lookin like that. I’ll get fired if I don’t chase you away and work like mine…hell, work at all is hard to find!”

“I understand completely. Thank you for the help.”

He waved to him and self consciously brushed the side of his hand against his lip. He smeared what came off onto his overalls and licked his torn lips as he reached the edge of the hotel.

Another train car was ringing a bell from around the corner until it passed him while it picked up speed. A fire red body and black and gold trim running along the bottom and arching where the iron wheels run into the tracks. Gold supports were bolted along each side of the cart and the paint was rubbing away from passengers gripping them too tight on a turn. The shabby hollow copper tubing underneath was ugly and dented. The breaks would squeal and grate against the wheels and sparks would shoot out at the feet of people passing by.

After he reached the front porch of Lisa’s house, he kicked his shoes off and beat them against the sidewalk until there was a smooth layer of mud. He scraped it against the edge of the porch and set them beside the door while he knocked. The lamp lights coming from beyond the door in the parlor leaked through the bottom and spilled onto his toes as he waited. When someone finally came, it was a young girl with long blonde hair that was tied in the back but with bangs that waved beside her face. She smiled gently and said, “Please, come in.”

Hardin stepped into the parlor and smelled the whiskey soaked into the red oak walls. A mirror with gold trim was hanging over a half table resting against the wall. Wilted flowers sat in a sparkling clear glass vase and the chandelier was hanging from a ceiling stained bile yellow from the cigarette smoke.

He looked into the open room to his left and saw a man relaxing in a leather recliner with a girl in lingerie mounted on his lap with his face in her chest. She moaned and rubbed her fingers through his hair and shoved him to near suffocation in her breasts. She laughed and then bit her lip and whipped her hair back until the girl in front of him said, “There are more this way if you would come with me. Do you have a particular type of girl in mind?”

“What types are there?”

“We have women of every color and age. If you’re into younger stock, you will have to wait a moment. She’s almost finished with a customer now.”

Hardin opened his mouth to say something when he heard a door beat against the wall and then a pair of legs appeared coming down the staircase. “Oh! There she is now. Would you like me to pull her aside so you can take a quick look?”

He went to mutter, “No” but it was interrupted when he noticed a thick black coat hanging on a hook beside him. And then Gordon rounded the corner with the same young girl tailing him with a few bills clenched in her fist. She stared at the floor with a weak stance and a pale face as she lifted the money to the girl beside him. She snatched it away and gave Hardin a fake smile as she grabbed Gordon’s coat from the hook.

Gordon grabbed her by the wrist and shook his head and said, “Don’t need to do that just yet. I’ll pay for my friend here, and he’ll be up there in a minute. Just gonna talk with him in another room. Any of these living rooms empty?”

“Right this way.”

Hardin glanced at Gordon who was eyeing the girl he had just come down the stairs with. He watched her face and knew she wasn’t more than thirteen or so. Her hands were young and her breasts were undeveloped. Her skin was tight and when she walked he could see her limping a little.

They followed her through the empty kitchen and then into a back room with three white leather chairs facing one another. The chimney had a fresh fire and it was a mixed aroma of old furniture and dry wood burning. When they sat down, the older woman said, “Would you gentleman care for a drink or some company?”

“Not at the moment, no.” said Hardin

Gordon stole looks at the young girl and Hardin saw the fire of desire in his eyes. Restless and lustful as a lion gazing along the planes of Africa at a herd of gazelle; they carried no remorse and they watched them leave the room and the younger girl limped away slowly. Hardin heard her sobbing through the door until Gordon said, “You shouldn’t have come out all this way, you ain’t well enough.”

“Doesn’t seem that way Gordon, because I’m here now am I not?”

“You know damn well what I mean Hardin. Your lips are bleedin’ and your skin is peelin’ so bad, you’d embarrass an onion. What the hell were you thinkin’?

“I wasn’t. I just wanted to see the city for myself.”

“I didn’t mean for you to see that. I don’t come here often but sometimes if I don’t I get itchy.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I just don’t like women my age.”

He started a drunken sob and rested his head in one hand and said, “I can’t help it sometimes and this is the only safe way I make it through the day without hurtin’ nobody.”

Hardin sat and didn’t blink as the fire dried his eyes. He sank further into his chair and watched drool soak into the thick rug. The tears streamed down his face and Gordon continued, “I know men who don’t give a damn whose little girl they get after, but I ain’t like that. At least she’s gettin’ paid for it!”

Gordon’s eyes darted across the room and then he rested his elbows on his knees and blew his nose.  “That doesn’t make a monster does it Hardin?”

“No Gordon, it doesn’t.”

His eyes swelled with tears and he stared at his feet until he rubbed his sleeve against his face again drenching it in mucus. He glanced over towards the door and called out, “Could you bring in somethin’ to drink?”

Someone came through the door a few minutes later with a silver tray and two shot glasses sweating on two cloth napkins. The reached up and took the drinks and the server left the room. They pressed their lips against their glasses and the whiskey burned his torn lips. He winced in pain after a few sips and then a warm calm rushed over him. The sting of the whiskey was now a friendly poke and together they sat and Gordon was at peace until he said, “I wanna thank you Hardin. I ain’t had company in a long time ‘sides Jonas anyway. I don’t get along with many people, but nobody really knows that. I don’t like leavin’ my cabin to go into town, because sometimes I think that ferry man can see right through me. It’s like he knows what I plan on doin’ and it scares the hell outta me. You met him right?”

“I did Gordon, sure.”

He looked into his glass and ran his fingers along the grooved bottom and he said, “Ain’t nothin like it Hardin, and it’s a curse I mean it. You didn’t plan on headin back tonight didja?”

“No, I meant to find some way to get home.”

“Well, you ought to stay here I think. All that walkin’ had to tire you out some. I’ll get you a room and one of these nice girls too if you like.”

“I’ll have a room Gordon but I’m not feeling lonely tonight.” He said with a reassuring smile

Gordon took his glass and rotated the side against his leg, wiping away the condensation and then setting it on the circle top table between them. He drummed his fingers for a moment on the armrest and then reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his pipe. Hardin watched him listlessly still calculating what to think of him when he said, “Do you have another pipe?”

“No, but I can get one for you.”

He shouted towards the door, “Lisa! Would you mind bringin’ another pipe and some tobacco in here?”

The floor creaked and bent until they heard the kitchen door swing open and brush against its paneling. The door to the living room came open slowly and a head poked in with a thin silver tray floating beneath it. Lisa came in and said, “I’m sorry Mr. Winkley but all we have are cigars. You wouldn’t mind that would you?”

“Cigars cost double what a pipe is!”

“It’s on the house Mr. Winkley. Please forgive my horrible hospitality.” She said with the face of a woman fishing for compliments

“Oh come now Lisa. A beautiful young girl like you can’t be accused for any deviltry. You’re too kind, thank you so much. Where’d you get a hold of these?” He said while turning the cigar in his fingers, “This looks foreign.”

“It’s from one of those countries that don’t speak nothin but Spanish. That’s why they cost so much, because they’re hard to get.”

“Well I hope my friend, the Englishman here, enjoys your place as much as I do Lisa.”His face was content as he brought the cigar to his nose and flared his nostrils.

“You’re a fine man, Mr. Winkley. I’d do whatever it takes to keep you smilin’ like that while you’re here.” She said while standing halfway in the doorway and leaving the room.

The lighter sat upright on the silver platter on a quilted white cloth and Gordon said, “Well, go ahead and light it! I wanna smell it comin’ from you first. Sure was nice of Lisa to give it to us free like that. I’ve never had one of these before. This kinda smokin’ is for gentleman. Probably got a lot of those where you’re from, right?”

“Not as many as you would think. I’ve never had the luxury of a good cigar myself. My father never did either but when I was stationed in Italy, I visited the palace of the monarch’s and I remember smelling something similar.”

“Well, hand me that lighter quick.” He put his mouth around the cigar and his cheeks drew in and puffed out when he released the smoke. He took another deep breath and readjusted himself and sat back and made smoke rings in the air that climbed into the living room’s chandelier.

Hardin held the cigar loosely and watched the paper crackling and burning slowly towards his hand. The cigars were rich like fine French wine, and the smoke seemed more reasonable to breath than normal air. He sipped it down and blew it out through his nose and watched Gordon hold the cigar between his teeth.  He winked at Hardin and drew in another breath and rested the cigar in the ash tray. A thin stream of smoke trailed out into the lamp shade as Gordon exhaled and threw his head back and the whiskey down his throat. “You want another whiskey? Don’t be frugal for me now, we got more than enough for tonight.”

Hardin held his glass at eye level and swooshed it for a moment and then said, “Sure Gordon, I could use another.”

Before he called for another, Lisa peeked in and rapped against the door with two more whiskeys. “You spyin’ on us Lisa?” He said with a grin

“I would never dream of it! I have other patrons to attend to.”

“Well, I hope I’m still your favorite customer.”

“With the kind of men who come in here Gordon, you are more welcome than most.”

“I guess that’ll have to do.” He laughed and continued, “Well, we are gonna need two rooms if that’ll suit you Lisa. Mr. Wesley here won’t be requiring any company but I…just make sure she’s ready this time. I can’t stand seein’ her cry like that.”

“Of course, and Mr. Wesley if you change your mind I will have a girl in the parlor that will help you find a suitable girl.”

He smiled embarrassingly and waved her away and he said after throwing the whiskey back, “Well, Gordon I am tired. We’ll head back tomorrow morning I suppose?”

“You bet. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

He stood up from his deep leather chair and walked across the room. He grabbed the knob when he said, “Did you get the stones and cement?”

“No Hardin, just whiskey and women.”

“Well, another time then.”

He passed through the kitchen and down the skinny hallways to the parlor and walked up the stairs when Lisa was coming out of another room at the end of the hall and locking the door. She pulled the key out of the lock and walked beneath the chandelier light and Hardin saw her lift her hair and nest the key between her cream colored breasts. She was full at the hips and her feet fell soft like a dance. Her eyes were murky and green, like seaweed floating in the reef after a drought. Her face was clear and porcelain and her delicate fingers ran along the walls and when she brushed his arm, she was the Egyptian goddess Cleopatra. She stopped at his side and looked up at him and said smiling, “It’s been a long time since someone has stayed in my place and not enjoyed the company of one of my girls. Maybe you don’t want any of them. What is it that you want Mr. Wesley? What can I give you?”

Hardin grabbed her arm gently and pulled her to an open room. He shut the door behind him as she sat down on the bed and drew the sleeves of her dress from her shoulders. The dress disappeared somewhere beneath the bed and his overalls laid quietly them, worn and wadded up. His whiskey glass was abandoned and it cried tears of condensation as his energy returned suddenly.  The next morning, Lisa didn’t charge him.

Reviews

[Adora.xo]

Well, quite intimate this one :P I loved the lines: Gordon stole looks at the young girl and Hardin saw the fire of desire in his eyes. Restless and lustful as a lion gazing along the planes of Africa at a herd of gazelle

Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! =[ I like Gordon a bit less for wanting to sleep with 13 year old girls, pervy old man. But over all, darling you did a mind-blowing job so far! Keep it up! I'm waiting on chapter 4 love

~Adora

[Camille Corbett]

Good writing. again the writing is abrasive, but nice story.