More of the Same
The wind blew cold as Eric made his way down the main street
of Branton. Winter had come early and already small piles of snow sat up
against the buildings. Water in puddles displayed icy glass like shards.
Pedestrians huddled against the gale and pulled scarves tighter round their
throats.
A large hinged, wooden shutter was padlocked to the front of
Eric’s newspaper booth. He unlocked it and raised it up attaching it to a metal
bar. Now it served as a roof which over hung the open window through which
magazine and newspaper sales were made, protecting Eric from any inclement
weather. The only enemy was the cold and Eric wrapped up warm and carried
flasks of coffee to make his sojourn a little more bearable.
Eric West was middle aged, he had lost his wife two years
before and his contact with the public gave him a sort of solace.
“And how’s the man today?” a voice sounded. Eric turned and saw
Jaded Jim holding a large pile of newspapers. Jim was one of the street people
who were homeless. He often came by and Eric would share his coffee with him.
“Where do you want them?” Jim asked laughing. Eric could see
that the pile of papers was heavy and Jim was struggling.
“Over here, mate”, Eric said indicating a bench inside his
kiosk.
Jim gratefully drank the hot coffee as Eric sorted the
newspapers and magazines. Eric made it sweet and strong, just the way he liked
it.
Jim had picked up his prefix of Jaded when a house painter
had accidentally spilt a pot of green paint over Jim as he slept in a doorway.
Eric had given him some money to clean up, but the nickname stuck.
By lunchtime Eric had eaten half of his sandwiches. Business
had been brisk and the pile of papers had diminished. A few magazines remained
as well as some action comics. The weather had deteriorated and now the wind
strength had increased and Eric felt the booth being buffeted.
“Hey, Eric!” A man shouted from across the road. It was Big
Sam, a four foot dwarf who like Jim lived solely on the street.
“Sam, have you eaten today?” Eric asked. “Cos ’
I made myself too many sandwiches and I’m sure you can help me out.”
“Eric, you’re a gent.” Sam said as he crossed the road. “I
was just wondering where I was going to get my breakfast.”
The winter evening drew steadily in and the roads gradually emptied
of pedestrians. I’ll give it another ten minutes then I’m homeward bound,
thought Eric as he counted the contents of his till. It had been a profitable
day and had passed quickly thanks to visits from Jaded Jim, Big Sam and other
denizens of the streets.
Eric looked up and noticed that a solitary hunched figure
stood on the opposite side of the road.
“I’ve still got some hot coffee!” shouted Eric. “If you
fancy a cup.”
The person moved slowly across the road and as he neared the
booth an errant gust of wind picked up Eric’s remaining newspapers and blew them
off down the street.
The dark figure raced off chasing the escaping papers.
“Leave them mate!” shouted Eric. “You’ll never catch up with
them.”
But strangely, he did, and returned them all carefully
folded.
As Eric poured a cup of coffee for the man he thanked him
for his trouble.
“They‘re destined for some of the street people’s blankets,
so I’m sure they would thank you too.”
“You could use a paper weight to stop the papers blowing
away again. How about this…” The man bent down below the front of the booth and
picked up something from the ground.
It was a circular piece of stone and the chips, scratches and
cracks on it surface gave the impression of writing.
“That’ll do,” said Eric looking admiringly at the object.
“And it was just lying on the ground?”
A fresh fall of snow covered the street when Eric arrived at
his booth. Faithful Jaded Jim stood holding a pile of newspapers.
“Didn’t want them to get wet,” grunted Jim, as Eric took the
load from him.
“You look cold my friend,” said Eric. “Let me pour you a
cup. It’ll warm you up.”
As Jim drank his coffee he admired Eric’s recent addition,
the stone paperweight.
“Woh man!” he shouted. “Where did you get that? It looks
Mayan or Aztec like.”
Eric explained where the stone had come from and about the
hunched man who had found it for him. Jim shook his head when Eric asked if he
knew the man.
“No, never seen anyone about like that. You say he was a
hunchback.”
“Yeah,” replied Eric as he sorted the newspapers out.
“That’s what it looked like to me.”
After Jim left, Eric sold papers and magazines to several
customers who purposely came to his booth. They knew him to be a good and kind
man and liked to help the news seller. The wind had dropped but the low
temperatures kept Eric’s booth chilly and he often gave a shiver.
His eyes strayed to an article at the middle of the front
page.
Two injured in pile up on Branton’s main
street.
A collision of two 4 x 4 vehicles at the
town’s
centre has led to one driver and the
other vehicle’s
passenger being transported to hospital
by ambulance.
Eric found out from the article that the two drivers had
been racing each other when the accident occurred. Eric hoped that the injured
would make a quick recovery.
Later that afternoon Big Sam came over to the booth.
“I got some news Eric,” he whispered. “There’s been an
accident in the town. Two cars collided.”
Eric was only half listening and only heard the last part of
Sam’s news.
“You say there has been another crash in town?” he asked.
“Another crash mate?” replied Sam. “No, there’s only been
the one.”
“But… I read about one in the newspaper,” said Eric running
his finger over the newspaper in front of him. “I am sure it was here.” He
indicated the area on the front of the newspaper where he thought it had been
but where it should have been was an advertisement for a car.
“I am sure I saw it here…” Eric said looking at Sam in
dismay.
“Must have been one of those ‘senior moments’ Eric,” Sam
said laughing. “You probably heard someone talking about it and your
subconscious made the rest up.”
The next day was a brighter day with a blue sky but bitterly
cold. The morning had gone by slowly and Eric had only seen a few of his
regular customers. He decided to take a break and have a sandwich. Edith his
wife had made up roast beef sandwiches smothered in mustard. Just the thing to
keep the cold out.
As he ate he scanned the newspaper and once again his eyes
were drawn to an article at the foot of the front page.
Mother and daughter (5 years old) die in
fire at house in Branton.
Yesterday, Margaret Boyle and her
daughter Sara who lived at No. 5
Taylor Way
Branton died when fire swept through their
house.
Both victims had succumbed to smoke
inhalation.
Eric quickly looked at the date of the incident. It had
happened that day… but in two hours time. It hadn’t happened yet!
Eric spotted Jaded Jim walking up the road and shouted
across to him.
“Jim, mind the booth until I get back please!”
By the time Eric arrived at Taylor Way he was exhausted. He had run
for about a mile before flagging down a taxi which had dropped him at the road
end.
Number 5 was a small bungalow that sat in a beautiful garden
full of flowers.
Eric ran to the front door and rang the bell as well as
banging on the door. No one came so he ran around to the back door where he
found Mrs. Boyle and her daughter clearing the snow from the back path.
“Your house is on fire!” he shouted and both Mrs. Boyle and
her daughter looked at the house in surprise. There was no smoke or fire
showing. Everything seemed normal ….until suddenly…there was an explosion from
within the house.
Smoke began to pour out the door and Mrs Boyle wailed.
“I left the chip pan on the stove. The fat has caught fire!”
She and her daughter made to run into the house but Eric grabbed them both and held
them back.
“No,” he screamed. “If you go in there you will die!”
Mrs Boyle looked at
him. She looked scared. “How do you know that?”
“I …have seen fires like this before,” he blurted out and as
if by magic it was confirmed when thick, greasy smoke started to pour out of
the house.
The fire engine left. The firemen had doused the burning
house until every part was saturated. Mrs Boyle and her daughter had been taken
away by the police to stay with Mrs Boyles’ sister. Eric was left to the mercy
of the Press.
“No, I am not psychic,” he said to a young reporter.
“But… Mrs Boyle said that you just turned up and stopped
them going into the house!” said the youth.
“I must have seen smoke…” Eric began to say, but was
interrupted by the pressman.
“But… Mrs Boyle said the fire didn’t start till after you
arrived!”
Eventually Eric got back to his booth. Jaded Jim and Big Sam
had been ‘holding the fort’ and in gratitude Eric gave them both a hand out to
compensate them. They were both embarrassed and tried to refuse citing all
Eric’s previous kindness to them.
“No,” said Eric firmly. “You must take it…you never know
when I might need you to fill in for me again.”
This turned out to be prophetic as the following day another
mysterious piece of news appeared on the top newspaper in Eric’s booth.
Yesterday, toddler Jimmy Graham today
fell from a third floor window to his death. The youngster had been playing
with the window handle in the lounge, his mother said, when the window opened
and he fell out. Mrs Graham is staying with friends and was not available for
comment. The flats in Orchard
Street Orchard Street
Eric quickly checked the date. It was indeed that day but
only an hour hence. He checked the street up and down but there was no sign of
his two stalwarts. Eric knew that time was the essence so he flipped the front
shutter down and locked it wasting valuable seconds fiddling with the padlock.
Orchard Street basked in the afternoon sun. A fat dog lay on
the pavement asleep. Flies buzzed busily over a smelly dustbin that had tipped
and lost its lid. All seemed quiet and serene, but Eric knew that this was set
to change in…less than ten minutes!
Eric pushed the bottom door of the tenement. A smell of
urine and disinfectant assailed his nostrils as he climbed floor upon floor.
Number 12 had to be on the floor above; Eric thought as he pounded up the
stairs. He only had minutes left.
Eric reached the front door of Number 12 and knocked hard on
it and kept knocking until the door opened. A bedraggled woman stood there
looking perplexed. She had obviously just climbed out of the bath and was none
to happy.
“What the hell do you mean by hammering on my door…” she
started to say, but Eric pushed her out of the way and ran to where he thought
the lounge would be. He threw the door open.
Little Jimmy Graham had just swung the handle of the window
up. He had spotted a friend of his down on the pavement and he had often seen
how to open the window when his mother called down to someone on the street.
Imagine his shock when the window swung out and he felt himself falling out
into space.
Eric grabbed the boy just as he began his descent and pulled
him back into the lounge into the arms of his mother. As mother hugged her son
crying and scolding simultaneously Eric quietly let himself out of the flat and
made his way back to his newspaper booth.
“Where have you been pal?” Jim asked, sounding decidedly
worried. He was standing by Eric’s place of business and had been looking up
and down the street.
“I had to go on an …errand,” replied Eric.
“Not another mysterious, disappearing item of future news?”
Jim asked.
Eric looked sheepish and nodded.
“Where did you read it?” he said picking up a newspaper from
the pile.
“There…in the middle,” replied Eric indicating the area on
the paper.
“But…” spluttered Jim. “It’s an advertisement for frigging
Butlins!”
As the sun set over Branton, Eric told Jim and Sam about the
accident that had almost claimed Jimmy Graham’s life.
“But why is it happening?” asked Sam. “Why does it vanish
after it alerts you?
“I don’t know,” replied Eric holding his hands up in
exasperation. “But what can I do but try and stop it happening?”
The next day it was snowing as Eric opened up. The weather
forecast was for snow flurries, leading to blizzards later on in the day.
I think I may close up early today, he thought; get home
before it gets too bad.
Eric carefully cut the band that held the plastic wrapper
round the papers and laid them on the counter. Reaching down he picked up his
stone paperweight and laid it on top of the pile. Just like a light coming on a
news item appeared on the front cover of the top newspaper.
Well known news seller gunned down. Eric
West was today shot dead during a robbery………….
Eric didn’t read anymore, he stood immobile. The news item
referred to HIS death this time. How was he to do anything about this?
“OK matey,” growled a voice from outside the booth. “Just
hand over your money and no one will get hurt!”
A man with a handkerchief covering his face stood there
holding a revolver pointed at Eric.
This was what the news item was all about. His own death,
thought Eric. It was about to happen…
“Hurry up!” snarled the man. “I ain’t got all day!”
“I’ve just opened up,” said Eric. “I don’t have any money.”
“Have it your own way!” shouted the-would be robber and
pulled the trigger.
The bullet shattered the stone paperweight and ricoched striking
Eric in the heart. The pain was excruciating.
The shock of the fatal injury made him jump and his head
rammed into the roof of the booth. This dislodged the heavy wooden shutter
which swung down and cracked the thief on the head. He ran off screaming, the
robbery forgotten, trying to staunch the flow of blood from his temple.
Eric felt at peace. He had some how got the strength to pull
himself out of the booth and lay bleeding at the edge of the street. The snow
was falling a bit heavier and soon Eric was clothed in what looked like a white
cloak.
“Get up Eric!” came a strident voice from across the street.
Eric opened his eyes and saw the man with the hunchback. As he watched the man
stood erect and the black coat slipped from his shoulders revealing – a pair of
golden wings that spread wide above the man.
“The stone… you gave me…it was magic,” spluttered Eric.
“Only to those with unblemished hearts,” the angel said.
“Now, the world has need of you, get up and join me.”
“What can I…do?” Eric asked feeling strength suddenly start
returning to his body.
“More of the same, Eric,” said the heavenly messenger. “More
of the same.”
Eric got up and instead of the snow falling of his body it
transformed into a gleaming garment and from his shoulder blades appeared a set
of silver wings.
………………………………………+………………………………………………
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