Pete took Luke's arm. 'Let's go.'
Luke felt ashamed. The guy was an officious twerp, but Luke and Pete were vagrants, and a railroad employee had the right to throw them out. Luke had no business intimidating him.
They passed through the majestic archway. It was dark outside. A few cars were parked around the traffic circle in front of the station, but the streets were quiet The air was bitterly cold, and Luke drew his ragged clothes closer about him. It was winter, a frosty morning in Washington, maybe January or February.
He wondered what year it was. ,, Pete turned left, apparently sure where he was going. Luke followed. 'Where are we headed?' he asked.
'I know a gospel shop on H Street where we can get free breakfast, so long as you don't mind singing a hymn or two.'
'I'm starving, I'll sing a whole oratorio.'
Pete confidently followed a zigzag route through a low-rent neighbourhood. The city was not yet awake. The houses were dark and the stores shuttered, the greasy spoons and the news-stands not yet open. Glancing at a bedroom window hung with cheap curtains, Luke imagined a man inside, fast asleep under a pile of blankets, his wife warm beside him; and he felt a pang of envy. It seemed that he belonged out here, in the predawn community of men and women who ventured into the cold streets while ordinary people slept on: the man in work clothes shuffling to an early-morning job; the young bicycle rider muffled in scarf and gloves; the solitary woman smoking in the brightly lit interior of a bus.
His mind seethed with anxious questions. How long had he been a drunk? Had he ever tried to dry out? Did he have any family who might help him? Where had he met Pete? Where did they get the booze? H Where did they drink it' But Pete's manner was taciturn, and Luke controlled his impatience, hoping Pete might be more forthcoming when he had some food inside him.
They came to a small church standing defiantly between a cinema and a smoke shop. They entered by a side door and went down a flight of stairs to the basement. Luke found himself in a long room with a low ceiling - the crypt, he guessed. At one end he saw an upright piano and a small pulpit; at the other, a kitchen range. In between were three rows of trestle tables with benches. Three bums sat there, one at each table, staring patiently into space. At the kitchen end, a dumpy woman stirred a big pot. Beside her, a grey-bearded man wearing a clerical collar glanced up from a coffee urn and smiled. 'Come in, come in' he said cheerfully. 'Come into the warm.' Luke regarded him warily, wondering if he was for real.
It was warm, stiflingly so after the wintry air outside. Luke unbuttoned his grubby trench coat Pete said: 'Morning, Pastor Lonegan.'
The pastor said: 'Have you been here before? I've forgotten your name.'
'I'm Pete, he's Luke.'
'Two disciples!' His bonhomie seemed genuine. 'You're a little early for breakfast, but there's fresh coffee.'
Luke wondered how Lonegan maintained his cheery disposition when he had to get up this early to serve breakfast to a roomful of catatonic deadbeats.
The pastor poured coffee into thick mugs. 'Milk and sugar?'
Luke did not know whether he liked milk and sugar in his coffee. 'Yes, thank you,' he said, guessing. He accepted the mug and sipped the coffee. It tasted sickeningly creamy and sweet He guessed he normally took it black. But it assuaged his hunger, and he drank it all quickly.
'We'll have a word of prayer in a few minutes,' said the pastor. 'By the time we're done, Mrs. Lonegan's famous oatmeal should be cooked to perfection.'
Luke decided his suspicion had been unworthy. Pastor Lonegan was what he seemed, a cheerful guy who liked to help people.
Luke and Pete sat at the rough plank table, and Luke studied his companion. Until now, he had noticed only the dirty face and ragged clothes. Now he saw that Pete had none of the marks of a long-term drunk: no broken veins, no dry skin flaking off the face, no cuts or bruises. Perhaps he was too young -only about twenty-five, Luke guessed. But Pete was slightly disfigured. He had a dark red birthmark that ran from his right ear to his jawline. His teeth were uneven and discoloured. The dark moustache had probably been grown to distract attention from his bad teeth, back in the days when he cared about his appearance. Luke sensed suppressed anger in him. He guessed that Pete resented the world, maybe for making him ugly, maybe for some other reason. He probably had a theory that the country was being ruined by some group he hated: Chinese immigrants, or uppity Negroes, or a shadowy club of ten rich men who secretly controlled the stock market 'What are you staring at? Pete said.
Luke shrugged and did not reply. On the table was a newspaper folded open at the crossword, and a stub of pencil. Luke glanced idly at the grid, picked up the pencil, and started to fill in the answers.
More bums drifted in. Mrs. Lonegan put out a stack of heavy bowls and a pile of spoons. Luke got all the crossword clues but one: 'Small place in Denmark,' six letters. Pastor Lonegan looked over his shoulder at the filled-out grid, raised his eyebrows in surprise, and said quietly to his wife: 'Oh, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!'
Luke immediately got the last clue - Hamlet - and wrote it in. Then he thought: 'How did I know that?'
He unfolded the paper and looked at the front page for the date. It was Wednesday, 29 January 1958. His eye was caught by the headline U. S. MOON STAYS EARTHBOUND. He read on:
Cape Canaveral, Tuesday: The U. S. Navy today abandoned a second attempt to launch its space rocket, Vanguard, after multiple technical problems.
The decision comes two months after the first Vanguard launch ended in humiliating disaster when the rocket exploded turn seconds after ignition.
American hopes of launching a space satellite to rival the Soviet Sputnik now rest with the Army's rival Jupiter missile. .
The piano sounded a strident chord, and Luke looked up. Mrs. Lonegan was playing the introductory , ; notes of a familiar hymn. She and her husband began to sing 'What a Friend We Have in Jesus', and Luke joined in, pleased he could remember it. Bourbon had a strange effect, he thought. He could do the crossword and sing a hymn from memory, but he did not know his mother's name. Perhaps he had been drinking for years, and had damaged his brain. He wondered how he could have let such a thing happen.
After the hymn, Pastor Lonegan read some Bible verses, then told them all that they could be saved. Here was a group that really needed saving, Luke thought. All the same, he was not tempted to put his faith in Jesus. First he needed to find out who he was.
The pastor extemporized a prayer, they sing grace, then the men lined up and Mrs. Lonegan served them hot oatmeal with syrup. Luke ate three bowls. Afterwards, he felt much better. His hangover was receding fast.
Impatient to resume his questions, he approached the pastor. 'Sir, have you seen me here before? I've lost my memory.'
Lonegan looked hard at him, 'You know, I don't believe I have. But I meet hundreds of people every week, and I could be mistaken. How old are you?'
'I don't know,' Luke said, feeling foolish.
'Late thirties, I'd say. You haven't been living rough Very long. It takes its toll on a man. But you walk with a spring in your step, your skin is clear under the dirt, and you're still alert enough to do a crossword puzzle. Quit drinking now, and you could lead a normal life again.' ;
Luke wondered how many times the pastor had said that 'I'm going to try,' he promised.
'If you need help, just ask.' A young man who appeared to be mentally handicapped was persistently patting Lonegan's arm, and he turned to him with a patient smile.
Luke spoke to Pete. 'How long have you known me?'
'I don't know, you been around a while.'
'Where did we spend the night before last?'
'Relax, will you? Your memory will come back sooner or Inter.'
'I have to find out where I'm from.'
Pete hesitated. 'What we need is a beer,' he said. 'Help us think straight.' He turned for the door.
Luke grabbed his arm. 'I don't want a beer,' he said decisively. Pete did not want him to dig into his past, it seemed. Perhaps he was afraid of losing a companion. Well, that was too bad. Luke had more important things to do than keep Pete company. 'In fact,' he said, 'I think I'd like to be alone for a while.'
