TheBanyanTree: Jonathan Harvard Come in from the Cold

[Sharon Mack]

This is a rewrite of a short story I did 10 years ago:

Jonathan Harvard, Come in from the Cold
		By Sharon A. Mack

He came in from the cold blowing on his left hand to warm it.  It was a futile action.  The thermometer at the library had read 2° Fahrenheit.  Someone hacked and coughed.  It came from a corner covered with cardboard and plastic.  Trash lay all over the floor.  It smelled of stale urine and dirty bodies.  He squinted into the dark trying to see who was so obviously ill.  Perhaps they would die.  Perhaps he would, too.
He moved to a vacant wall.  A thin shaft of light came dimly through a partially boarded window.  It was the best he could do at the moment.  A draft from the broken window, glass still jagged in the corners behind the rotted boards, blew across his shoulders.  He shivered but stayed where he was.  Right now fear of the dark seemed much worse than the cold.
Setting his suitcase down he sat upon it hugging himself with his arms, his hat pulled low on his head, his collar up around his ears.  He was thankful for the fur lining.  Carol had insisted on fur.  He'd said flannel would be good enough.  He was glad now she had insisted.
He longed to sleep.  No one seemed to notice him.  A few had built fires with scraps of trash sitting as close as they dared.  Others were obviously in a drunken sleep or passed out covered with whatever had been available; newspapers, plastic scraps, cardboard, filthy ragged blankets or layers of equally filthy pieces of clothing.  The stench was sickening but he was too tired to care.  Leaning back he closed his eyes.  He dozed.

Suddenly he jolted almost falling off the case.  Opening his eyes he turned to see the others watching him intently.  Hands trembling, he watched them back, grabbing his coat closer to his throat.  He pushed closer against the wall.  Perhaps they had been startled at his jolting as much as he had been.  Then another thought occurred to him.  What if they had been waiting for him to sleep so they could*..he'd heard they would steal the very clothes off of your back.  Your coat or your shoes.  He looked down at his practically new leather boots with their warm fleece lining.  He felt sick.  These poor souls might even kill for what he had on.  He should leave this place.  But where would he go?  How had he reached this place?  Tears welled but he stopped them.  There had been enough of that already.
Half closing his eyes brought some rest.   He was so tired.  He'd been walking all day looking for work; looking for a place to stay.  Every job had either been filled or had long, long lines.  Every room he'd inquired about had wanted 'up-front' money.  No one would trust him no matter how earnestly he had entreated them.  No matter what promises he made.  Even the local sleazy motel had turned him down.  When the desk clerk saw how desperate he was he recommended two homeless shelters on the other side of town.  With out bus fare it meant walking.  It was dark and he was exhausted.  After a few short blocks he came upon the library.  Its warmth and lights drew him.  He entered and stayed until closing.
Now he was here.  Trying to walk the last eight or ten blocks to the shelters had been too much. The wind and the cold had exhausted him quickly.  He wasn't used to the outdoors or exposure to the elements.  At last he'd given in and ducked into the first cover he could find.  How had this happened?  It seemed overnight.  He'd been on top most of his life and now this.  He'd lost everything; his family, his home, his business, his friends.  All of it.  Why hadn't he seen it coming?
"Oh you saw it alright, Harv."
The voice in his head startled him.  It sounded just like Carol had when she knew she was right about something and knew he'd never accept it.
Carol.  He didn't want to think of her now but she invaded his thoughts anyway.  Where had it all gone wrong?  She could have hung in there.  This would never have happened if she'd just stood by him.
"Harv, you've got to be kidding!  It wasn't Carol.  It was never Carol and you know it."
That damned voice.  No it hadn't been Carol, but if he'd just had some sign.  Something to tell him the direction things were taking.  A small warning.  Something.  Anything.
"Oh, you knew, Harv, my friend.  You just don't want to admit it.  You didn't want to then either.  So here you sit.  You saw it coming but never wanted to face it.  The signs.  The warnings. They were all there.  All you had to do was look at them.  Read them.  Remember Jake?  Your wonderful partner, your life-long friend.  Remember him?
Yeah, he remembered.  Oh, God, did he remember.
"Don't 'cha remember, Harv ole' boy, the times you wondered how he could afford to live so much better than you?  Better cars, a bigger house.  His clothes.  His cash.  All those vacations.  Didn't you always wonder how he could afford it when you could hardly handle a condo in Florida and your mortgage here in New York?"
But they had been friends.  How could he suspect him?  What could he have done anyway?
"Yeah, he was your friend alright.  He drained the business dry.  Took everything you worked so hard to build up and ran with it.  Sure he was your friend.  Uh-huh!"
The voice in his head quieted and suddenly he felt heat.  A hot, soggy heat with clouds of it swirling about him.  Far in the distance he could hear Jake calling him.  But Carol said not to go.  She had a small boy's hand.  It was Paulie when he was little.  Where did they come from?  Why were they here?  They were crying.
Jake moved through the mist and suddenly stood facing him with a smile, his uniform was tattered and torn and blood spattered.  Harvey reached out.  He wanted to know where they were, what was happening but no sound came from his open mouth.  Suddenly Jake turned and the mist cleared.  The jungles stank and the sweat poured from his body.  The heat was suddenly unbearable.  Jake waved him forward,  "C'mon!"  Harvey's feet wouldn't move.  He was stuck in a mire and was slowly sinking.  He wanted to scream, he tried to scream but no sound came forth.  Why wouldn't Jake help him?  Couldn't he see what was happening?  Why wouldn't he help?
Jake began moving quickly through the jungle, cutting away the path as he went.  He no longer was in a uniform but a bloodied suit and he carried a steel briefcase.  Slowly he turned and Harvey saw the gun.  "Noooooooo," he finally screamed!
This time he fell.  His face lay smashed and bloody on the filthy floor.  The case was turned over and opened, its contents spread around him like dirty laundry.  He couldn't move.  The sudden cold and the darkness frightened him.
It was the sense of movement close to him that made him force himself upward.  He stood shaking, trembling trying to see into the close surrounding blackness.  There was nothing near him and no one had moved away from their spots in the outer area that he could see.  He began picking up the now, dirty items from the floor and shoving them back into his suitcase.
He was crying now.  A soft, shuddering cry he could not control.  He was colder than ever as he re-perched himself on his case.  He was determined not to sleep.  The voice returned.  It was chuckling at him.
"Like I said friend, you knew!  And Carol knew, too, but you wouldn't listen to her. Ha!  Appears she was right afterall, huh?  Hate that, don't 'cha Harv?"
Yeah, he hated it all right.  He brushed away the tears.  He'd known and so had Carol.  She'd always known.  He hated her for knowing.  She'd never trusted Jake and he'd hated her for that, too.  He hated the way she'd made him feel.  Stupid and weak.  "No guts," she had said.
It had been a long, hard ride downhill.  He'd avoided the signs.  Hadn't wanted to know. But what good did all this self-incrimination do him now?  How could it help anything?  He had to shut the voice up or he'd go mad!
He saw a small streak of gray dawn through the gap in the boards.  Daylight was beginning.  He felt dirty.  Stiff.  Stupid.  Now what?
Slowly he got up and picked up his suitcase.  He took about three steps from his spot against the wall.  They came from his left rear he thought.  He never really knew.  The pain shot first between his shoulders and he heard a crack at the base of his head.  He fell quickly with no hands to catch him.  The suitcase was torn from his frozen grip as his face crashed into the floor.  A hard foot kicked him again and again.  In his back, his groin, his gut, his head.  He smiled.  He saw Carol and Paulie.  They were so close.  He reached to touch his son's hand.
The last thing he knew was his nakedness.  They'd stolen his clothes and left him to die.  He closed his eyes and was no longer afraid.  His last breath trembled, drawing blood from deep within.  He choked and breathed no more.