I Am The Local Atheist (12 page)

I looked at
her questioningly.

“
That means that their record stops them from being able to
live with other people. A couple of guys who have lived here have
been blacklisted, mostly due to notorious theft and not having any
consideration for other people’s welfare.”

Christie
frowned. “Forced to live on their own? Tough but fair, I
guess.”

I would have
loved being able to afford to live on my own. It wasn’t like I
needed anyone to talk to – I certainly had no desire to make
conversation with Tinsdale and Martin; even with Martin being a
gaming freak we barely spoke to each other that much.

I was finding
it hard to sustain any sense of sympathy towards anyone here, least
of all the ones who had gone out of their way to hurt other
people.

“
It sure is,” Lucas said. “It’s not like they didn’t make a
choice to break the law though. I mean, when it comes down to it,
regardless of their situation, they are the ones who made the
decision that would end up with them being blacklisted, or whatever
else has put them where they are now.”

Christie had
to concede the point. “True, but thank God that we have the Sallies
to help them put their feet back on the right path.”

“
And that’s only if they choose to follow any kind of advice at
all. Right?”

“
Well, yeah, sure. But God works his wonders in all sorts of
ways.”

“
I would have to question how many of these people even believe
in God if this is where they’ve ended up.” Lucas put out a
defensive hand towards the caregiver. “Not saying this is a bad
place, or anything; just that what they’ve done has caused them to
end up here.”

Christie countered: “Well if they put their faith –
and
their lives –
wholeheartedly into God, they would find that they would no longer
need to make those kinds of decisions that would land them here.”
She put out a defensive hand towards the caregiver. “Not saying
this is a bad place, or anything.”

Lucas rubbed
his chin. “Yeah, but that’s only if they choose to even follow
God.”

Christie took
a deep breath and tapped her foot impatiently on the bottom
step.

Lucas turned
to her. “You alright?”

“
My toes are getting sore.”

He looked down
at her feet. “You should try a different pair of shoes then.”

The staircase
made a lot of old creaking noises as we ascended it. Each step
seemed to have its own whine, like the timbers were complaining
about the amount of weight walking on them. After being told about
some of the mental patients and criminals that ended up here, I
half expected a resident to burst out of their room brandishing a
weapon and yelling at us to keep the noise down or he’d shoot our
bloody heads off! I also wondered if my over-active imagination
would get the better of me someday.

I didn’t
exactly want to make my presence known, although the caregiver was
hardly doing anything to keep her noise down, giving casual nods
and boisterous ‘hellos’ to residents that walked past. Some of them
greeted her with just as much enthusiasm – one older man excitedly
shook our hands, each in turn, smiling gloriously like his day had
been made that much brighter just by our visit; others ignored us,
shuffled past and pounded down the creaking stairs trying to escape
our four-person crowd.

All of a sudden we rounded a corner and the wood panelling
that created the hall in front of us seemed like an old run-down
apartment from
Swat 4
, a game that I had recently completed without too many
hassles. I readied myself, shotgun in hand, pistol at my side;
creeping down the hall about to bust through broken and worn down
doors in search of terrorists and psychotics who were planning
either world domination or were simply taking revenge on sworn
enemies. I checked a couple of windows to see if they might offer
an alternate route along the outside walkways where I could get an
angle into their hideouts to fire from, but they were
locked.
No good, will have to take the
direct approach
.

Lucas leaned
towards me. “You alright?”

“
Yeah, why?”

“
You seem to be acting a little funny.” He eyed the emptiness I
was clutching tightly in my hands.

I released the
shotgun back into the thin air it had come from.

“
And you’re smiling as though something is extremely
funny.”

“
Or exciting.”

“
Yeah.” He looked at me expecting me to say
something.

I coughed
trying to get rid of the smile on my face.

There wasn’t
much else to see, but the set-up of the rooms, and the facilities –
as worn down and falling apart as they looked – made me realise why
I had never seen all that many poor people or drug addicts on the
streets or sprawled in some dark and dingy corner of the city: the
reason was because most of them ended up here being looked after
long term and cared for when no one else would.

We walked back
down the whining stairs and went through to one of the ground floor
wings where many of the older residents lived. The hallway housed
rooms on both sides so the only light that made it down here was
from the entranceway to the kitchen at the end or the one bulb
hanging in the middle.

One of the
room doors creaked open and a haggard old face, gaunt and
suspicious peered through the gaps of the door. His spindly body
almost made an attempt to leave the dark shadows of his room before
fearful eyes spotted us and changed their mind. I thought I heard a
wheezing escape his throat before he closed the door and the locks
were clicked shut.

The Caregiver
knocked and called out: “Everything okay in there?”

Silence.

She turned
back and smiled. “I can still hear him wheezing.”

“
Is he okay?” asked Christie.

“
Yeah, he’s just not used to visitors. Some of these guys can
get pretty solitary. If they have the health we try to get them out
and about every now and then.”

I imagined him
scowling like a vampire from behind the door at the thought of
being out and about, unless it was out and about in the pitch black
of night and hanging from precarious angles off tall buildings.

We passed
through a dining area with tables and chairs scattered about in
somewhat close approximation. Apparently the residents got three
square meals a day plus morning tea and late night supper – a vast
improvement on jail meals I was told (though even the three square
meals in prison seemed like gourmet to most
straight-out-of-highschool tertiary students I had known who could
barely even afford two meals a day: “Better to starve and have time
to do assignments than work extra hours just so I can eat” Martin
had moaned to me once).

“
Put it down!
” cried a voice from in
the kitchen on the opposite side of the room.

There was a clatter of cutlery, pots and pans hitting the
floor and a voice crying out “
Get away
from me! Get away, get away you evil people
!”

“
Robert!
” cried the other
voice.

“
Oh dear,” said the Caregiver. “Here we go again!”

She took a
deep breath with tight lips and marched into the kitchen while
Lucas, Christie and I waited at the other side of the dining
room.

From behind the walls the Caregiver bellowed loudly
“
What the heck is going on in
here
?”

“
Robert was trying to steal more cupcakes, as well as a loaf
of bread and a block of butter
.”

“
Robert
!”

“
It’s not true
!” Robert’s voiced cried
out with exaggeration, much like a young child being accused of
something they hadn’t done.

“
Look in his bag
.”

“
Leave my bag alone! Leave it you slimy
bitch
!”

“
With that kind of language you won’t be getting fed again at
all, Robert
.”

There was more
clattering of cutlery and pots and pans skidding across the floor
as Robert came rushing out of the kitchen clutching his bag,
hobbling in some kind of drastically crippled escape mode, except
that he hobbled straight into a dining room chair with the
bag-clutching arm swinging over him and all the bag contents flying
in a high arc and landing by the window seats. He saw us, looked
behind at the Cook and the Caregiver trying to conceal their
laughter, and suddenly started hobbling along the floor towards us
on all fours. Before the Caregiver and Cook were quick enough to
realise what he was doing, Robert had cornered the three of us and
was reaching one desperately clawing hand up, while the other
steadied his arching rise from the ground, his pocked face pleading
through uncut hair and stained gums “They don’t feed us. They don’t
feed us. Please help, please!”

Where was my
zombie swatter when I needed it?

Christie
practically jumped into Lucas’ arms as he instinctively stepped
forward to protect her, but the Caregiver and the Cook had both
grabbed Robert’s arms moments before his uncut fingernails had
found a grip on any of our clothing.

“
Man, did you even get your meds today, Robert?”

“
Please! Don’t let them kick me out! Please, don’t let them
ditch me like they ditched the girl.
Please!
”

“
Oh Robert, you still going on about that? We didn’t ditch
anyone. This is a Men’s Hostel, for crying out loud. You’re getting
your wires crossed again.”

They carried
him back to his room, feet dragging lazily on the ground.

I looked over
Christie’s shoulder at Lucas. “What were you saying about this not
being a bad place?”

He raised his
eyebrows.

Christie
suddenly realised the position she was in and quickly took her arms
off Lucas, coughed unnecessarily, ran some fingers through her
hair, looked at me instead and forcibly smiled. “Exciting place, is
probably how I would put it.”

The Cook
passed back through shaking his head. The Caregiver reached us and
said, “had enough?”

Christie asked
“What did he mean about the girl?”

“
Ahh, common enough story. We hear it often, especially among
the dealers. Person wants to stay the night at their place after
some heavy drinking, but gets kicked out and is left to walk the
streets. The dealers we see around here become so callous that they
just don’t care about other human beings after they have dealt with
them.” She threw her hand up in exasperation. “I don’t know who
he’s talking about though; we do not allow any women to stay here.
It cannot be done under any circumstances, especially with the type
of men who stay here. It’s just a sad reminder that first, don’t
associate with those kind of people; and second, it’s not hard to
give someone a pillow for just one single night! Is it?”

Christie
firmly replied. “No it’s not!”

Alice walked
out of one of the offices with another Salvation Army officer,
probably the person in charge.

“
There’s enough second-hand stuff down in the basement that we
can come back tomorrow and start transferring some of it to the
Family Store – it’ll help these guys to stop feeling so cluttered
up.”

Christie said
“Been a good year for donations has it?”

Lucas stepped
up beside her. “Wouldn’t it be a good year if people just learnt to
recycle for crying out loud?”

Christie
turned on him looking annoyed. “Well that’s what the Family Store
is for – so people can recycle and reuse!”

The other
officer rolled his eyes. Alice smirked and then ushered us all back
into the car.

Christie
clicked in her seatbelt. “You really like stepping on my toes don’t
you Lucas?”

“
How can you say that? We haven’t even started dancing
yet.”

As we backed
out, Christie suddenly pointed to the building next to the hostel
and said “see that? That’s where the Bridge Programme is.”

I turned to
where she was pointing and saw a brick-built rectangle with trees
growing around it. “Oh, okay. Thanks.”

“
You just go around the corner and the front door is there.
They’re really friendly. I met the manager last week.”

“
Right.”

Alice looked
at me through the rear-view mirror. I looked out the window as the
car left that place behind.

I told Lucas
that I would wait at the Family Store while he loaded the van up at
the Men’s Hostel, that way after unloading I could stay behind and
help sort it out with Christie. “I just don’t feel so comfortable
over there.”

“
Okay then. But they are okay guys y’ know?”

“
Aren’t you the one that said ‘illegal is illegal’?”

“
As the law calls it. But by that count that would make you a
criminal. But I still think you’re an okay guy.”

I felt pretty adamant. “They’re
criminals
.”

Lucas raised
his eyebrows.

“
I’m not talking about petty crimes by bored teenagers, or
unjust laws being broken, or running a red light when you know you
can get away with it. I’ll admit, there were some genuinely nice
people in there – some very strange ones as well; but those
criminals
are people who
have purposely set out to hurt other people.”