Chapter 1

(OK - folks. Here’s the beginning of Chapter 1. I’ll post the rest of the chapter later this week. Let me know what you think. If you’ve just started reading here then please go back in the category The Novel and read the preface. Remember, if you like this or even if you don’t then please leave a comment.)

Early June can be fickle in Pennsylvania with one day shivering out a last gasp of winter and the next a sweltering hint of dog days yet months away. Today was the first Monday in this particular June of 2008 and it would be the latter - humid and 80F was the forecast. The sidewalk where the man sat would soon be baking as the sun rose above the rooftops of the buildings lining the main street of Quarryton, Pennsylvania. - Q-town, Pee-Yay locals called it - and the man would for the time being be glad for it. He was a bit disheveled from his night against the walls of the Taylor Investments Building with his sleep gear gathered about him and the rest of his belongings - things most would consider refuse - safely away and tarped in the shopping cart under a an ornamental dogwood tree planted in the side courtyard of the building. Today was not unique. There had been many like it before for him. He was always thankful for the morning sun and its accompanying warmth and likewise grateful for every day he awoke and was allowed to breath the air and have food in his stomach. It had been another hard winter outside and the lack of snow and stinging spring winds were a welcome change because Ralph, a name everyone knew him as, was a homeless person - .indigent, vagrant, bum. Those were the names most called him, but when pressed as to how he thought of himself he’d reply that the world was his home.

Most, however, never bothered to talk that much to Ralph. That suited him fine because he never liked lying to people when they asked him his name or if he had family or wouldn’t he rather have a job and home. Ralph preferred to let people make up their own minds about him and create their own answers. And colorful answers abounded. The local legends went that Ralph was a Viet Nam Vet who saved a village from being bombed by friendly fire. This had led to his dishonorable discharge and eventual divorce from his wife Maggie May. He came home with no job waiting and had lost his mind. Some people said he’d once killed a man for a quarter while others were sure he’d been released from the local VA hospital psychiatric ward without resources to get the medication needed to suppress his schizophrenic tendencies. Some say he’d been bumming around Q-town since the early eighties, and some said he’d come here a little over six years ago from New York after 9/11. It was all a pile rubbish, but Ralph never dispelled the myths. Most of them led to people leaving him be or at least handing him a couple bucks, though money wasn’t something he really needed. There was always a meal available at any one of five local soup kitchens, and everything else he desired he already owned. The thing he needed most was the thing he couldn’t really ask someone for. It would come to him on its own, though he really didn’t know what it would be. The universe would provide until then. So he waited with the patience of a prophet.

Traffic was just beginning to stir so he went to the rear of the building and relieved himself against the alley side of it. If he had to take a dump there was always the Sunoco gas station up the street where the owner let him wash up in the restroom. This morning though urinating was all that was needed, and it was a pleasure to not see steam rising from the flowing splattering on the bricks. Doing this always made him laugh, but he’d never told anyone just why that was. This morning was no exception and he did laugh. It wasn’t because he was crazy even though some days he doubted his own sanity. It was irony plane and simple.

“C’mon Ralph we’ve been through this one before,” said Officer Pallozzi as Ralph was finishing zipping up.

“Sorry, occifer,” Ralph said in his best drunk voice.

It was early and Jim Pallozzi hadn’t started his shift yet at the Quarryton P.D.. He had his street clothes on and his uniform was still encased in a plastic bag on a hanger fresh from the dry cleaner. He had parked in the municipal lot behind Taylor Investments and was rushing to make his 6AM start time. He was hurried and Ralph knew this. There would be none of Officer Pallozzi’s usual harassment this morning, but Ralph suspected he’d pay the price of public urination at some future time. He stopped and watched Pallozzi go toward the police station and waved after him. Ralph wished no harm on the Police Officer, and in fact sent a silent blessing after him for his safety. He then turned back toward the building, squatted, and surveyed the urine puddle at its base.

It was golden as usual, but the sun’s light didn’t reach this side of the building so he couldn’t gaze into it. Ralph was looking for something in the swirls of liquid as he did most things of the natural world. He was scrying for enlightenment, and hoped some pattern in the liquid would reveal itself before the ground drank it all away. A flock of starlings alighted on the edge of the building above him chirping out a sonata for the impeding summer. They were busy making their living for the day, and Ralph marveled at the patterns in their flight as they flew from building to ground and then back again like leaves caught in the wind. Their ability to move as if one was wondrous but yielded no omen to the man who had been vigilant for one since he’d began sitting outside. He was never afraid that he’d miss it when it came because experience had taught him the universe just didn’t work that way. His sign would come and he’d know it when it did.

The number three bus from the Q-town transport center stopped at the light where Ralph was setting up his vigil for the day. It issued a hiss as the bus lowered its step to closer match the level of the pavement. The downtown workers were arriving and Ralph had already seated himself on his ratty army blanket and had his “Homeless - Need Help” sign in place. Even though he’d never really kept any of the money he collected he knew it was “expected” of him to beg. Most folks walked by checking their consciences and assuring themselves he deserved no help - which he didn’t really. Others felt good for tossing in a buck or two and Ralph knew this and was glad he could help them. The money he collected would be left anonymously at whatever food kitchen he ate at or in collection plates of a church that gave him shelter in the winter. Occasionally he buy a pack of Marlboro and a Pepsi for Leroy up at the Sunoco as a thank you for letting him use the bathroom. That was the extent of Ralph’s spending and his work as he called it. Make people think, make them feel good, and in between look for signs from God.

“Good morning, Ralph,” said the woman throwing a handful of change into the rusty coffee can in at the edge of Ralph’s blanket. “It was a bit chilly last night wasn’t it?”

“Not too much,” Ralph said as he noticed a large crow land on the top of Joe and Bill’s Hotdog Shop just across the street. “Thanks, and good morning to you too, Carol.”

Carol Dawson had stopped at Ralph’s blanket every morning on her way to work at Taylor Investments. She had worked for them for eight years and Ralph had been a steady fixture here for all of those. He was harmless and even a little bit sad in her estimation, but it was no burden for her to be nice to the man even though he really needed a bath and a shave and a job. Most morning she just smiled and said hello, but this morning as she dropped her usual left over change from the day before into his can she felt like talking more.

“Have you had the eye looked after yet?”

She was referring to his left eye which had clouded over a bit after he’d been beaten by someone last January. He’d shown up bruised and more dirty than usual with a hint of blood at the edge of his mouth. He’d said it had been some punks, and by that Carol took him to mean some of the new crop of meth addicts that were appearing throughout Q-town over the last couple of years. Carol had no idea why addicts had beaten Ralph other than the fact that he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time because in her mind Ralph couldn’t possibly have anything they’d want. Meth addicts and their needs were far from Carol Dawson’s realm of existence. She had no idea that Ralph the bum usually had a hundred dollars on him or more any given day from his “work”. This just never occurred to her.

The crow, which had been watching Ralph and Carol, flicked its head from side to side and began cawing loudly.

“It’s doing just fine,” Ralph said. He had never seen a doctor and had been having trouble seeing out the milky white eye since his cornea had been damaged from a blow he’d taken while he was sleeping. The boys - three of them - hadn’t gotten any more hits in than that. Normally Ralph hadn’t slept that deep and wouldn’t have been snuck upon, but the sleeping bag he had was warm and insulated sounds hard to hear. They hadn’t gotten his money either, but there had been one young man who had to visit Memorial Hospital the next day with a broken wrist and badly in need of a meth fix. Ralph never liked to use violence, but sometimes his reflexes got the best of his intentions. The thing that was funny about it to Ralph was that if they had asked for the money he would have given it to them along with a blessing and a small dose of pity.

“Sometimes I think you just placate me Ralph.”

“Old Ralph is just good as gold,” Ralph said. “How’s that daughter of yours doing? She off to college yet?”

“No, not yet. She’s just finishing her sophomore year this year so I have a bit before I have to figure out the college thing and paying for it.”

Ralph had succeeded in changing the subject from his eye and was glad for it. He had met Carol’s daughter last year when she’d come to work with her one “Bring Your Daughters to Work” day. Cindy Dawson was growing up with her mother’s good looks and slightly curly blonde hair and deep brown eyes - sometimes green when the sun was right - that always had a longing in them for some unseen thing. Cindy had looked a bit uncomfortable around Ralph, like most folks do that have never been around a street person, when Carol had stopped to drop her usual change in his can so he hadn’t said too much to her. He had always managed to ask about her though because he suspected she was all Carol really had in her life. Carol wore no ring, but she had the worn look of a woman who had let one too many bad men into her life. Ralph never noticed her have a lunch date even though she was still pretty enough to evoke the interest of many of the men who worked at Taylor Investments.

The crow had dropped down to the sidewalk twenty or so feet up the walk and was pecking at a remnant of hot dog bun dropped by one of Joe and Bill’s patrons the previous day.

**posted April 21st, 2007

“Carol, I need you in here and not on the sidewalk talking to bums,”said a man who had stepped out of the revolving door, the only revolving door in Quarryton. “And I’ve told you before to stop bothering people Ralph or I’ll have to call the police again.”
Ralph eyed the clock on the town square a half block away. The hands stood fifteen minutes before 8:00 AM so he knew Carol wasn’t late yet.
“Yessir, Mr Jeffries,” said Ralph. “I was just saying goodbye.”
Ralph winked at Carol who answered with an exasperated half grin she knew her boss wouldn’t see. As she walked off toward the door of Taylor Investments Ralph found himself trying not to watch the way the curves of her hips looked against the navy blue fabric of her dress. Dwayne Jeffries, Carol’s boss, made no such pretense as she preceded him into the revolving door. After all there was only Ralph to notice and it was easy to be rude in front of the usually invisible persona of Ralph the Bum - a fact Ralph had come to accept and even relish when the opportunity to watch people presented itself.
It was after Carol had left that Ralph noticed the crow. It had hopped a bit closer to his blanket now the hot dog bun it was eating was only a memory. The crow was now inching its way toward the coffee can and seemed to be either totally unaware that Ralph was there or it just didn’t care. With a few hops it was peering into the can - twisting its head from side to side - trying to get a better view of something at the bottom. Ralph was so close to it he thought he could almost see his own reflection in the oily sheen on the bird’s nearly purple feathers. In fact there was a slightly sweet smell coming from the obviously well-fed bird that reminded him of strawberries. Perhaps the bird had been feasting on something from the nearby market’s dumpster or maybe even from someone’s city garden.
Ralph tried not to move as he watched the crow. They were alone on the street now - no people going to work, no buses or cars on the street, no Officer Pallozzi hassling him. If Ralph hadn’t been watching the bird so intently he’d have noticed the emptiness of the street. It seemed more like Christmas morning than a busy workday.
The crow had now hung it neck over the edge of the can and was completely still. Ralph chanced to move and he leaned forward pushing himself up as slow as he could to try and see what was interesting the crow so much. As he did his knees both popped and for a second he thought it sounded like gunfire in the quiet street. He was sure it would startle the bird. It didn’t. Ralph, feeling a bit more emboldened by this, leaned until he was actually over both can and crow. He was sure the bird would perceive him as a threat now. It still didn’t move. It’s focus was on the bottom of the can. Ralph could now see the crow was actually being careful to lean as far as it could into the can while trying not to touch the rim. It was as if it was trying to not cause something in the can to move. When it shifted a little to one side Ralph could see what it was looking at finally.
At the bottom of the can lay the coins that Carol had thrown in. She had been the only donor to the can that morning, and since Ralph had forgotten to put some money in himself - he always found this got people giving more easily if they thought they weren’t the first ones doing so - they all had to have come from her. There were six quarters - always good coinage from Carol, never pennies or even nickels - five of which had arranged themselves evenly around the base of the can like the corners of a pentagon. It was as perfect when Ralph connected the space in between each coin in his mind like someone had laid them there on purpose. In the center of the pentagon was the sixth coin. It, unlike its brothers, was standing on edge. The crow lifted its head and cocked it to one side so it could see Ralph. He good eye met the right eye of the crow and Ralph knew they connected. The crow wasn’t asking, “Are you planning on eating me, bub?” It was more like it was saying, “You see what I see?”
The crow held Ralph’s gaze for only a few seconds before it turn its head back into the can, gave a half a hop like a frog leaping for a fly, snatched the coin that was on its edge, and then it was back on the ground and jumping away from the can. Ralph was too stunned to even wonder what the crow was up to. The coins landing how they had and the fat that this animal and he had connected in a deep way had left him speechless. His time on the street had left him with many experiences, but none had effected him like this one. Synchronicity was working, and for a moment he felt a shiver run up his back. The crow stopped for a moment, turned to face Ralph again, looked him square in his good eye again, and before he knew what was happening the crow leaped into the air. Ralph could feel the rush of air from the bird’s wings brush his face as it flew over his head with coin in its beak.
Ralph did the only thing he could. He jumped up, his knees popping from the sudden strain, saw the crow circle him once before it headed off across the alley behind the Taylor Investments building, and then raced off following the bird - what he now recognized as the sign he had been looking for.