The Raggy Man

Elaina carried the canvas bag slung over her shoulder. In it she carried the day old bread that she took twice a week over to the old mission.The old church was where the old priest fed the hungry and the homeless. She didn't have much, she and Juan usually had little more than beans and rice many nights to eat, but they were certainly much more fortunate then the sad, lonely men, women and sometimes children that stood in line each day just to halt their hunger pangs. She loved helping out where she could, and this was the one place where she felt something almost draw her. She supposed it was the feeling that the rest of her life was out of her control and in this way she felt she could do her part to help someone else just a bit and take her mind off of herself and the loneliness that seemed to eat her up from the inside out.

She entered through the heavy, wooden door that was scarred with years of wear and abuse. Elaina smiled a bit at the irony of the situation as she compared herself to the well used door. They were both worn and growing older by the minute she thought, but the old door still had a few years on her. She straightened her shoulders and dropped the bag full of bread onto the table in the small kitchen where an old white haired man worked over a huge silver pot that was emitting a heavenly aroma. She lightly brushed her hand across his stooped shoulder as she moved around him, and as she did so he straightened up and acknowledged her presence with a smile. Though he had lived many hard years and had seen many of life's sorrows, he had the youngest, kindest, most full of life eyes that she had ever seen.

For the first time all day she felt a sense of peace come over her as she set to work helping ready the coming meal. Elaina knew that before it grew too late in the evening, Juan would come to meet her and walk her safely back home. Juan knew the streets far too well, where a missed step could mean a snuffed out life. Juan with his brazen, angry attitude and his twisted sense of honor was more like his father than he would ever admit. Juan was protective of her and he would make sure that she would find her way to their tiny little apartment over off of Fifth Street safely. She pushed all of her thoughts and worries from her mind as she began scooping helpings of the steaming, delicious concoction on to paper plates. Outside the line grew longer.

Juan knew his mother was over at the mission again, helping the old priest feed all those worthless, used up people. He frowned and as he did so he remembered the scrawny hand, flailing forth from the pile of clothes, under the bridge earlier in the day. A ripple of guilt tickled his soul. He pushed it back as anger took it's place. Life would have been so different if his father had kept his word and returned to them. His mother was not the same anymore. She had lost the lilt to her voice as she spoke and her eyes now seemed dull and hopeless instead of bright and gleaming as they once were. His father was responsible for all of this. He wished that he could find that bum and kick the old raggy man again, only this time harder. It might help ease the pain and anger that consumed his life. All these people that couldn't take care of themselves, that were homeless and dirty and lived under bridges were just weak and shouldn't exist. For a moment he was furious that his mother would spend her time giving them something for nothing. He loved his mother though without question and he realized that this was part of who she was. He wondered if their was a God what He would think about Juan's hatred for the raggy man and the others like him that seemed to fill the streets. He figured that maybe God wouldn't be pleased.

The man stumbled down the street and by looking at the sky he realized that he would arrive at the mission a bit earlier than he usually did. He figured it might just give him a little more time to try to pull some money together for another bottle of liquor. He already felt the need to numb out the pain. He briefly wondered what had happened to his family over the years? He and his wife had something special once upon a time. It seemed so long ago though that he could barely remember. Then there was his son. He had made a promise that he had been unable to keep and now he paid the price.

His eyes started to tear up. He brushed at his face as he had done earlier to his hair hoping to rid himself of vermin though this time he was hoping it would work on his memories. As he neared the church he saw the odds and ends of humanity waiting patiently in line for whatever human kindness the world might still dish up for them. He hoped he could avoid the eyes of the kind old priest this evening. His stomach rumbled and he guessed he must still be alive.

The priest blessed the food and the people who were standing in line nearby bowed their heads briefly and mumbled along with the blessing. Occasionally a baby grew fussy and some quiet words from a mother calmed the sound. There was no chit-chat or laughter, just the hungry needs of the people who waited, many of them for something that they didn't realize consisted of more than food.

The line began to move forward, each person taking a paper napkin, some plastic utensils and a plate heaped with food. Many sat at the plain brown tables that were staggered throughout the room. Some others took their plates and headed back outside to squat in the darkening night. near the parched trees lining the street. The woman peered over the bent heads that were filling the room. She searched for the familiar face of her only son. She was usually on her way home by now. Home to spend another night wondering what had gone wrong. Home to face her son's anger and confusion, that is if she could keep him from heading back out into the night and the mean streets of which he was quickly becoming a part. Sometimes she was afraid she would lose him to the very thing that her husband had gone so far away to prevent. Terrorism wasn't just in some far off country somewhere, but very real to the people who lived, worked and were sometimes preyed upon just to survive on the mean streets of the city. People who did their best to reach some of their dreams before a hard life wore them out. She sighed and noticed Juan edging through the side door and into the room. Their eyes met briefly and she lifted her chin and smiled at him. He was growing up so fast and looking more like his father each day. If he could rid himself of the anger he held inside, they would be more alike than he could imagine. She smiled again at what her son's reaction would be to that news.

Juan threaded his way through the crowd trying to keep his distance from any unwashed bodies. He knew his mother would scold him if she knew his thoughts and he didn't even want to think about what would have happened if she had known what had transpired between him and the bum under the bridge earlier in the day. A shiver passed down his spine and he failed to notice the leg of the chair that stuck out in front of him. Juan began to fall. As he did so a thin dirty hand reached out and caught him fast, preventing the fall which was on it's way to being a nasty one. Juan was forced to look up into the face of the man who had grabbed his arm. Though the smell of the unwashed man made him gag slightly, the uncomfortable feeling of seeing one's self in a mirror began to take over. Eyes as brilliant and black as his own copied his sense of unreality. How was it possible that this smelly, raggy man might be the same as the one whose picture held such a place of honor in their small home. It couldn't be. His father had not come home and his father could never be this scrawny, dirty scarecrow that held onto him so tightly. His father was a liar but not a bum. Somehow though he knew. He knew that somehow, through all the pain of life and hurt and loneliness that God or fate or something had brought them into the same space to meet once again.

The man grasped the man-boy that he had instinctively grabbed in order to prevent the boy from a nasty fall. His dark eyes no longer clouded from the effects of
liquor saw a younger copy of his own face in front of him. How could this have happened? His mind shouted out thoughts of protest as he felt all of the layers of pain caused by the war and the atrocities he had seen, begin to peel away from his soul. He had felt like a quitter and a coward when he had left Iraq, finding what little solace he could in anonymity and drinking, which had made him forget all the unkempt promises and the horror he had not been able to cope with. He realized for the first time that in his drunken stupor he had wandered back to his roots. Back to the very territory where he had left his family and those broken promises. He had found his way home. He stood up and for the first time for as long as he could remember he held his head up and gazed at his son. His son wasn't the young child he had left behind some six years ago holding onto his mother's hand.

This child was almost a grown man. Hot tears began to pour from his eyes leaving trails through the dirt on weathered cheeks. For a moment the pain that he had lived with for so long became unbearable and seemed to begin to smother him. The boy stood in shock watching the raggy man's face as it flitted through a myriad of emotions. The man's mouth began to bend and curl, almost as if the lips had grown rusty. The boy heard his name squeak out of the man's mouth and for the first time in six years he beheld his father. The raggy man's lips continued to morph, heading into an upward motion and ending in a strange crooked smile. Anger drained from the boy's countenance and suddenly he felt like maybe there was a God who listened occasionally to prayers that were cried out at night on a wet pillow. Julio grabbed his son tightly to him. The boy began to sob.

Across the room pulling her purse out from under a pile of empty bread wrappers Elaina sensed that something was happening. Her heart beat quickened as she searched for her son's face. As she saw the raggy man reach out and grab Juan she headed off realizing that Juan might react in anger and strike the thin man. She knew that Juan hated the people that she tried to help and she didn't want a scene. These poor people at least deserved some dignity and peace while they ate. Suddenly she realized that the room had gone strangely quiet. Juan stood in the raggy man's embrace, not in a angry stance, but with a look that she barely remembered on his face. As she neared the strange couple they turned towards her. Elaina dropped her purse to the floor and felt as though some strange darkness might overtake her. She looked at the almost duplicate faces. One young and one more mature. Julio had finally come home.

The man exited the shower stall that was housed in the church basement. He had scrubbed himself until he was almost raw but he was presentable once again. The kind old priest gave him a change of clothes to wear so that he might be more presentable in the company of his newly rediscovered family. After the initial shock of finding his wife and his son, the man had spent several hours talking with the old priest. The man pondered the past years and all of the things he had seen and done. Maybe he wasn't so sure anymore that God wasn't real. He knew he had a lot of work ahead of him. The priest had made him set up an appointment for the day after tomorrow and he was going to begin attending AA meetings as soon as possible. He put his arm around his wife's waist and held tightly to his son's hand. The hand almost as large as his own.

They had all learned some important things about life in these last few years. He would have much to prove not only to his family but to himself. They would not be separated again and this time no hell on Earth would make him break his promise. He silently sent a prayer through the night air to a God that for so long he felt had ceased to exist. They neared the small apartment that they would all call home and the once raggy man reached out and rubbed his hip wincing as he did so. It felt almost as though he had been kicked. Juan noticing his father's action hoped that the man would never remember where that pain had originated. Maybe sometime in the future they would be able to share all that had transpired that night. For the present Juan felt a flicker of hope for the future. He also knew that God was as real as the man who now stood in front of him.

Down on Fifth Street the lights of the church still glimmered. The old priest would be up far into the night preparing for morning Mass. He also readied the old scarred tables that the homeless and hungry would gather around later in the new day. He knew they would be numerous but he had enough food for their bodies and their souls. There was plenty enough of everything to go around. The old priest's eyes twinkled as he locked the church door.