I go to Da to check on him first thing. He is lying, awake, motionless when I approach him.
“How are you, Old Boy?” I ask.
“Stiff, Young Man. And tired.”
“Didn’t you sleep well?”
“I slept well. But it’s the kind of tired sleep doesn’t seem to fix anymore.”
I help him to his feet. He walks around the empty space, stretching and bending this way and that, working out the kinks. He walks to the dirty picture window facing onto the street, across the street, over the street to the sea beyond.
“Nice place,” he says. “Nice, nice place.”
I step up beside him to see this nice, nice place.
“Well, the sun is out,” I say. “Which is nice.”
I turn back to the bundle of blankets that was Jarrod’s bedding, and he is not there. “Let’s get on out into that nice, nice place and see where it gets us,” I say.
When Da and I get downstairs, Jarrod is dealing with Charlie at the counter. Charlie is handing over some bills, and both guys are smiling, satisfied.
“Hey hey,” Charlie says when he sees us.
“Hey hey,” Jarrod says. He sounds chipper, and even looks and smells better.
“Where’d you get the clothes?” I ask. He looks like a high school track coach now, but his duds are clean and so is he.
“Thrift shop,” he says. “And the mission gave me an egg and an English muffin and let me take a shower. In fact, they
“Sleep well, men?” Charlie asks.
“Great,” I say. “Thanks again.”
“Happy to help,” he says. He and Jarrod have concluded business, and we head out of the shop. “I’m sure I’ll see you again,” he adds.
“Don’t count on that,” Da answers.
Out on the sidewalk, Jarrod turns around, all fatherly, and hands me some cash, and Da as well. Not a lot of cash, but some is a sum right now.
“So business went well,” I say.
“Business went well,” he says. “I went right over there,” he says, pointing across the street and a hundred yards up, where the Compass Inn sits next to the North Star Bar. “I was in the North Star, and it couldn’t have gone smoother. Pretty busy, too, for so early in the day. Best part, though, best part? When I showed the guy running the place that business card and asked about work, he called the ferry office right away. Right away.”
“That’s good,” I say. “Jarrod, that sounds really good. But don’t get your hopes too high. Most places don’t usually hire just like-”
“Well, this ain’t most places. I ship out this afternoon. Guy told me lots of new guys apply in the morning and ship out by the afternoon. Wild, huh?”
“Can I shower?” Da says, and steps right out into the street, aiming for the bar. I yank him back just before a beer truck rumbles past.
“Sure, Da,” I say. “But the shower is this way.”
We walk in the direction of the Salvation Army mission.
“Jarrod, what do you mean, shipping out this afternoon? Shipping out to where?”
“Don’t know, don’t care, didn’t ask. I just want to go. And you guys can come too. The man said they need any live bodies I could round up. Seems like they can’t fill these jobs no how for some reason. Lucky, huh?”
“Bugger boy,” Da says, not even looking toward us.
“Da, shush.”
“What? What does that mean?” says Jarrod, more offended than worried.
“Bugger boy. Boats need bugger boys. Bugger boy.”
Jarrod looks to me, a little more desperately now.
I silently wave Da off. “He doesn’t know anything about it,” I say. “Lucky you. You’ll land on your feet. This is great news. New life maybe?”
“Maybe. That would be really good, if a little scary, too. Guy in the bar, though, he told me that pretty much everybody on the boats does most of the same what I do, so it’s cool either way.”
Well,” I say, patting him on the back, “good news on top of good news. I am happy for you, Jarrod, I really am.”
We reach the mission and stand outside for a few seconds. “Come with me,” he says, “on the boats.”
“College,” I say.
“Postpone,” he says.
“No,” I say.
“No,” Da says, though not sure to what.
We sit at a small wooden table and sip juice and coffee while Da takes his well-earned shower. Then he comes out to find the promised English muffin, plus the drinks. Just like with Jarrod, I am not even offered solids pre- delousing. Da looks happyish, having undoubtedly taken his dosage. Happyish, though, as the pills just seem to get progressively weaker for him. I don’t think we’ll be buying generic next time.
Jarrod waits with Da while I take my shower. I am quick, but my, what a shower it is. Glorious. Life- giving.
We are all but glowing, the three of us, with renewed vigor and outlook, as we finish up, thank the mission folk profusely, and move on our way.
“Want to go look for some clothes now, Da?” I ask.
“Nope,” he says. He points in the direction of the Compass and the North Star.
“Hold on,” I say, determined to do at least a small something about my attire. I run into the thrifty, grab a heavy burgundy sweatshirt that says SUFFOLK UNIVERSITY LAW SCHOOL on it and a long, pea-green all-weather trench coat off the rack, a coat just like in all the foggy old spook movies in London. Very practical. I am pulling on the trench coat as I hit the sidewalk and it fits great, if I tie the belt around twice and don’t mind a jacket down to my ankles. As it happens, I don’t.
“That’s your new wardrobe?” Jarrod jokes.
“It’s versatile,” I say. “All I will need is this and a selection of underwear.”
Jarrod leads the way across the street, the newly minted professional sailor with the appropriate side-to-side swagger in his step.
We go into the North Star, where we meet the benevolent businessman and the helpful employment agent/barman and a few early drinkers who couldn’t be more polite if we bought them drinks. Which we don’t, and won’t.
“I have to go,” Jarrod says.
“Where?” I ask.
“Over to the terminal. I have to get my uniform, get fingerprinted… all the regular new job stuff.”
“I see,” I say.
“I’ll catch up with you later. But don’t forget, I leave on the one o’clock ferry. That’ll be it, I’ll be gone. So if I don’t see you before that, make sure you’re there.”
“Of course,” I say. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
He goes suddenly watery, wobbly. He grabs my hand.
“You wouldn’t, would you?” he says. “Everybody needs somebody to see them off, right? And you’re my best friend. You’re both my best friends.”
Da looks up at the tin, patterned ceiling, then down at the bare wood floor, clearly impatient with this.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say. “Count on it.”
“Okay, guys,” Jarrod says, excitedly backing away on his way to get fingerprinted and all that other usual new employee stuff.
“Now we can get a drink,” Da says, bellying up to the bar.
I follow him, and the bartender says, “ID, please.”
I am not bothered, as I really didn’t want one. I am happy to stand there while Da savors his own,
