Part 5
Some men gather in the improvised square, joining our conversation. Among them, I recognize one all too well. He’s like my dead goombah in some ways – someone society tossed away like garbage when he was too young. But unlike my goombah, he’s bitter, filled with the desire for cruel revenge.
He reminds me of a wolf. He’s excellent at finding food or resources to help the group survive, as if he has a hunter’s instincts. He avoids trouble with gangs and the police, predicting dangers as though he can see the future. He’s a true survivor, skilled in every trick to keep himself – and sometimes the group – alive. But at his core, he hates the same like he – homeless.
We’ve never been friends. That was never possible.
– Freddy, – I spit his name out to show I’m not afraid of him. It’s not his real name, of course. Many of us hide our real names and stories. The nickname suits him, though. He’s known for chasing and robbing children in parks at night. He relishes their terror. Disgusting.
– You disappeared right after his death, – Freddy sneers, stepping closer. – Left us. Stopped bringing money. Why?
– I was mourning, – I reply coldly.
– Bullshit! – He spits on the ground. – I hear you’ve been shagging rich boys! Decided you don’t need us anymore, huh? We’re not good enough for you, is that it? You think you’re too clean, too decent for us now? That goof’s body wasn’t even cold, and you were already dancing on dicks! Damn you!
– Screw you, Freddy! Since when did you become a judge? Did you forget who helped you when you were worse than a whipped dog? That ‘goof’ – he chose to help you, and now you dare to spit on his memory? I get why you’re mad, though. Your mommy preferred some fancy man and kicked her ugly son to the curb, didn’t she?
– Oh, you little, – Freddy lunges at me, but the creaker steps in, his massive frame stopping Freddy in his tracks.
If Freddy is like a wolf, the creaker – the leader of this group – reminds me of an old bear. No one would dare touch me with him here. He remembers how my goombah cared for me and considers me under his protection.
Freddy glares at me, but I know his weak spot. Mentioning his mother always gets to him. Still, I’d never insult my goombah. Never.
– Enough! – the creaker roars, his voice like thunder. – Get your act together! – His words calm the group, the tension easing.
Except for the newcomer. He looks stunned.
– Wait… are you… a gay? – he stammers, his face pale.
Before I can answer, Freddy jumps in. “She’s blind!” he sneers, twisting the truth to his advantage.
– You’re kidding me. What the fuck?– The newcomer looks around, expecting laughter, but the group remains silent.
– She plays men like fools. Don’t fall for it! – Freddy adds, his voice dripping with malice.
The newcomer’s expression darkens, scorn and spite replacing his earlier confusion.
– You’re a fucking bitch, – he says slowly, his words chilling me to the core.
– I said, ENOUGH! – the creaker bellows again. His voice ends the dispute, silencing everyone.
I don’t need to be told twice. I head to the other side of the square where, if nothing has changed, the creaker's camp should be. There’s nothing remarkable about it. The leader of the homeless doesn’t have a sturdier shelter than the others – just a pile of junk that looks like, well, a pile of junk. The old man has never sought to elevate himself above the rest or live off the backs of his people. He’s always been ready to share everything – from valuable knowledge to food – even if it’s his last.
That’s part of my plan.
After a short exchange, the creaker approaches me decisively.
– Did I come at a bad time? – I ask, trying to ease into the conversation.
– There’s no such thing as a bad time for us. We can be anywhere we want – we’re homeless. That’s one of the few rights we have left. So… why are you here?
I look at the creaker and notice the shadows on his weathered face.
How old is he? How many years has he lived like this? And why?
I’ve never asked him about it – maybe because I don’t want to share anything about myself either.
The creaker has always been an integral part of the streets. His flabby face, deep, almost black wrinkles, and bearish, round-shouldered frame have been a constant. But I’ve never seen sorrow in his eyes. Just as I’ve never seen Freddy act so bold.
Is the wolf rallying a few allies to challenge the bear? Ha! Impossible.
So, what’s weighing on the creaker?
– His den was damaged by some bastards last night, – I say quietly. Though I know it’s not really a secret, I’ve always kept the place I lived with my goombah – and later alone – a secret for my own safety. Someone like Freddy is always eager to “pay a visit.”
The creaker’s forehead furrows, the creases resembling an old, decrepit leather boot – one that’s been discarded and left to rot in the trash. Even the homeless wouldn’t wear something like that.
– What about your possessions? Did anything survive? – he asks.
– Nothing. Except this, – I reply, showing him my sports bag with a dress and shoes inside.
– I can give you some money to start. How much do you need?
– All of it.
– Excuse me? – The creaker seems so surprised he even resorts to polite phrasing.
– Those bastards took something I am going to get back.
– Is it a secret?
– What do you already know?
– Relax, girl. That’s all. Everyone has something they guard closely.
He stretches into his inside pocket to get his own money that he earned a couple of days ago.
– No, – I stop his intention. – I need it all. All of what you saved up.
– Blow me down! Do you realize what you’re asking? It’s impossible!
I understand the creaker will give up. I feel it, actually. He is stepping back because he’s too kind.
– Please! – I speak about the stash of the homeless society that the head has to guard. – I don’t know when I can pay it back, but I’ll do it.
I watch as the creaker’s face turns grey and sad. The man looks almost fated. He is obligated to consider the deal with the community. If he loses the stash, nobody knows what the consequences will be. The money was saved for the worst cases, like emergencies or funerals for one of the homeless members.
– Will the money be enough?
– No. I will figure something out.
The creaker comes back with a pocket when the newcomer passes by us. No one says a word. I feel a sharp look at me. I smile askew, and the newcomer turns away.
We wait for the footsteps to fade.
– I pray for him! – The creaker quickly brings the pocket. He’s talking about my goombah.
– If there’s a tear of belief left in you, then pray for me! That’s better! – I chuckle because I’ve lost any gods.
– Take care, girl! – The creaker shouts at me, but I’ve already forgotten about the old man.
I’ll have to go through the pawnshops in the area to find my stolen secret.
