Covenanter Witness Vol. 53 - Rparchives.org

mister,"robbin'once."once,"guy,"preachin',"see."waitin'stuff."now."me,"year."starved,"park.""The Lord teaches us to forgive," I said quietly."I thought of that he replied with bitterness. "So on her birthday I brought her a big boxof candy. Know what she did ? She slapped my face.Thought I'd stolen the money. That's her forgiveness.Look around, right here," he motioned with his arm."Call this a Christian world? All I want's a job. Iwant to work. I don't drink. I ain't no bum. But willanybody believe it?"We had walked a long way, and were nowabreast of the Mission. I stopped and put my handon the boy's shoulder. "I've got to go on ahead, butI think you ought to stop in here. They'll give youfood and a bed. You'll have a chance to look arounda bit.""I ain't in the mood for nodefiantly."Try it once, just once, andrected him toward the door.he repliedI quietly di"You seem like a right he said. "Why not?Sure, I'll try it He went in and I continueddown the street.Then, right there on the Bowery, I saw an employment agency ! I started over. "Don't go in there,a voice cautioned. It was the old man withthe whiskers. He was seated on the sidewalk by thedoor. "Some guys get desperate and go in," he explained. "That's what they're for. Make agandy-dancer out of ya. Go around fixing railroadouthouse."ties. Live worse'n rats under an"But I've got to find a job," I said. At this hecackled. "Not so easy here, mister. This city'll putyou on the island if you want, but that's no better'nbeing in jail. If you stand around with those fellerson the corner over there he pointed up to HoustonStreets "maybe somebody'll come along and let youmove some cargo. That corner's where the boys whowant to work all go, and sometimes they get a jobthat lasts an hour or two."I sat down on the sidewalk beside him. "Buthow do the men down here live?" I asked. He cackledagain. "Well, me, for instance, I get social security.Course that ain't enough. Some of the boys go onunemployment, but they get found out sooner orlater. You can always get a push cart, go roundgarbage cans. Good money in that. Pick upwhisky bottles, get a pennyfind."apiece for all you canI simply couldn't believe it. I got up and stumbled away, trying to make myself realize what Iknew deep down was true. "Surely a man can't becondemned for the clothes he wears; he cannot beforsaken because of sins he is forced to bear!" Ishuddered, for reality proved my credo false."Unless,"I decided. "Unless."I sat in a doorway and watched the hopelessderelicts plodding by. After a while it began to getdark. Some fellows were heading up Third Avenue,and I joined them. We ended up a block from theBowery at the Municipal Lodging House a bleakbrick building that used to be a school. I fell in linebehind an old ragged geezer with a beard. Fleas werejumping from his worn overcoat. Lice were crawlingon his eyebrows. We went in. First we got a bowl ofsoup, then an orange, and were taken upstairs to adormitory. The old geezer with the lice was on thebed next to me. On the other side was a decrepit248man with no teeth. "Best place is Bowery Mission,"he remarked. "They delouse you and fumigate yourclothes before you can have a bed. Makes no difference here. They only fumigate once aThe air was foul, and I woke up repeatedly,gasping for breath. The nipping on my legs continued, and in the morning I woke up scratchingfleas and lice. We got ugly-tasting oatmeal and anorange. Then I left.That day seeped away into nowhere. I triedstemming over on 14th Street. "Mister, I'mI begged. They passed me by or gave a contemptuousstare. One man laughed in my face.I had no lunch or supper and at night I stretchedout on a bench in a park. Someone tapped my leg."Don't stay here, pal. Cops patrol thisA man of about thirty-five, wearing only anundershirt tucked into ragged trousers, was bendingover me."Come withhe urged drunkenly. "I knowa good place cops never find." He pulled at my sleeve.me."'^Come on withWe went down several side streets, then intoan alley. Finally he led the way down some steps,and we came into a damp, cobwebbed cellar of anabandoned warehouse."Cops never find us here," he boasted. He shovedhis bottle toward me. "Yer a good pal. Have drink?"pal."I declined. "That's what I call a goodI kept answering in monosyllables, and he kepttalking and drinking until finally he became verysolemn. He held up the bottle and scrutinized it."I hate this stuff, but can't leave it alone. Burnin'out my guts. Look at my hands !" he quietly sobbed."They won't hold still no more. I can't even thinkstraight He took a drink. "Lost my false teeth.Woke up, my jacket's gone. That's the Bowery. Butwhere else could I go? No dough. I can't lay off thisHe was visibly crying now. He took his glassesoff and rubbed at his eyes. "I had a he beganwife,"again. "Good wife, but I'd lose my temper. I'd keepcriticizing. She took our little girl and left. I pleadedwith her to come back, but no. So I started drinking.I was an accountant, but they fired me. Worked upin the mountains awhile. Waiter at a winter resort,but that closed. Ran out of dough. What's a guy todo? Had no dough. Everything busted. Life's allbusted. My wife, she'sgone."He took a drink and emptied the bottle. Hestared at it, and his hands began to tremble morethan ever. "Gotta have a drink," he mumbled. Hegot to his feet and staggered up the steps. "Gottahave a drink," gotta."he sobbed. "Gotta, justI could hear him crying and shouting as helurched away down the street. His glasses were lyingwhere he left them. I put them in my pocket to keepfor him, then, in weariness and hunger, I rolled overand slept.The next day the streets were quiet. A carillonplayed in the distance. It was Sunday. Somethinginside me perked up, and I walked a little faster. Upahead was a church. Doors open, people going in. Ifelt a gladness in my heart. I started forward, butthen stopped. My clothes, I remembered. My beard,God would welcome me, but I knew His childrenwould not. I stood outside and watched them enter.COVENANTER WITNESS