Fortune Is a Woman - Elizabeth Adler [88]
The room was freezing, not just the damp temporary cold of the ocean wind outside but the penetrating marrow-chilling cold of an abandoned place. Setting down his basket he hurried to the little stove, took a box of matches from his pocket and relit the charcoal. He had been gone longer than he intended because he had imagined he was being followed. He’d had that feeling in his bones; he had felt eyes on him, heard footsteps behind him, yet every time he turned around to confront his shadower there had been no one there. Sweating with fear he had led his imaginary followers a dance, dodging through alleys and racing down shadowy lanes, losing himself in the process. Eventually he had found himself back at the relief kitchen. He’d eaten a meal there, acting as though nothing was wrong, keeping an eye out all the time, but no one had shown any interest in him.
As he left he’d turned at the door to check. People were eating, drinking, talking, no one was looking at him, but still he kept a cautious lookout as he walked back home.
Wisps of smoke sprang from the freshly lit charcoal and he put his hands to his mouth and blew on it till it glowed red. Then he turned to look at Josh.
He was lying on the rough pallet bed exactly where he had left him. He thought bitterly that that wasn’t surprising, since Josh was paralyzed. His blind eyes stared vacantly upward, and if he had heard Sammy come in he did not show it. Josh had not uttered a sound since the night Sammy had dragged him from the flames roaring along Pacific Avenue and carried him in his arms to the hospital.
Sammy put his strong arms around Josh now and lifted him to a sitting position, chafing his icy hands to get the circulation going. “I’ve got something that’ll warm you up,” he said cheerfully, taking his purchases from the basket. He uncovered the bowl of beef stew and held it under Josh’s nose for him to savor the aroma. “Just like your Annie used to make,” he said, putting a little broth in Josh’s mouth.
“That’s a good lad,” he said, feeding him spoon by spoon, like a child. “Aye, that’s good, Josh. You can’t ever say your friend Sammy didn’t look after you proper. And I’ll keep right on looking after you till my dying breath, just like we promised each other. Right, Josh?”
Josh’s head lolled sideways and Sammy put down the bowl and took his friend in his arms again, moving him into a more comfortable position.
“I’ll get meself a job soon,” he promised, sitting back and lighting a cigarette. “There are plenty, with all the new building going on. And then I’ll find us a nice room—on the ground floor, so it’ll be easy to get you in and out. And when I’m earning a bit we can buy you a wheelchair and I’ll take you for walks. Mebbe down to the ocean? You’d like that, wouldn’t you, lad?”
His black eyes burned with pain as he stared at Josh, remembering the vital golden boy he had once been. And now he was talking about pushing him around in a wheelchair, about showing him places he would never see, about taking him to an ocean he would never swim in.
He pulled the bottle of cheap whiskey from his pocket, opened it and drank deeply, shuddering as the harsh liquor hit his stomach. Then he leaned forward and tilted the bottle to Josh’s mouth, nodding, satisfied, as Josh swallowed. “That’s better, lad,” he muttered. “It’ll ease your pain for a while.”
He sat drinking the whiskey, watching his friend and wishing he could turn back the clock.
“I’d put it right back, Josh,” he said thickly after a while. “All the way back to when we were still lads at school. Them was the best times, Josh, weren’t they? Just you and me, havin’ a good time together?” He sipped the whiskey reflectively. “Aye,” he added quietly, “I’d put the clock right back to before the day at the river when Murphy drowned.” He sighed deeply. “I didn’t mean to do it, you know, Josh, but it was like a rage took over my