The men hovered by each arriving bus, smiling with the bottom halves of their faces, their eyes hidden behind ultra-dark sunglasses. To young alighting passengers they would speak words Ariel could not hear and did not want to, then turn and squabble with other men trying to do the same thing. Jostling each other with fury and threats while trying to hold to smiles for the teenaged travelers who walked through the doors with faces full of anxiety and expectation. The game had an insane quality to it, one which left Ariel feeling as though she stood at the edge of a precipice.
When Clarice had paid for their two tickets and turned away from the counter, Ariel pointed and asked, “What is that all about?”
“Those are runaways, dear.” She picked up her suitcase and started away. “Come, our bus leaves in fifteen minutes.”
Ariel picked up the small cardboard and vinyl case that Clarice had lent her and hurried to catch up. She walked a little clumsily in Clarice’s skirt, which was folded back over itself and pinned at her side in order to make it fit. She also wore a simple white blouse and fuzzy pink sweater, all from Clarice’s drawer. “What is a . . . what you said?”
“A runaway,” Clarice repeated patiently. “They leave their homes, some for good reasons and some for no reasons at all. They take buses to the big city, and people like these men you see here try to take them and use them.”
Ariel’s gaze shifted from the charade to Clarice and back again. “Use them for what?”
“If you don’t know,” Clarice replied, “I advise you not to ask. Now come along, dear. We must hurry.”
As they walked down the long foyer with its line of doors leading to the bus platforms, Clarice went on, “The organization I belong to, The Salvation Army, is a special kind of church. We work with the lost, the helpless, the hopeless, the homeless. We serve the ones who are forgotten by society. There you can see some of our young members trying to steer these runaways away from the chasm.”
The chasm. Ariel saw four men wearing ties and kind faces, men strong enough to deter the gangs from trying to shove them out, standing by a placard that read, “Free food, free rest, free hope.” A pair of young girls stood in front of them, tattered backpacks at their feet. They looked very tired and very frightened. Just out of reach, young men gathered and taunted the group.
When Clarice tried to walk between the Salvation Army stand and the group of hovering young men, one of them bounced her with his hip, causing her to stumble into Ariel. “Watch out where you’re going, gramma.”
“Vultures, that’s what you are,” Clarice retorted. “All of you.”
“Hey, get a load of the goods,” said another, pointing at Ariel. “C’mon, sweet thing. For you we got a surprise. And you’re just gonna love it.”
Ariel stared at the young men. She could not help it. There was such a bizarre strangeness to them, such a total absence of everything she had thought of as constant, permanent, eternal.
“Come along, dear,” Clarice said. “We mustn’t miss our bus.”
Ariel looked at the woman but did not move. There was such strength in the little lady’s voice. How could she not be shaken by such strangeness? She turned back to the taunter, saw the tension and the anger and the chasm that separated them from eternity. What am I to do? she cried silently.
The call lofted upward, and returned to her with reassuring calm. She felt a power sweep through her. It showed through her gaze, communicating with a force beyond words. She stared at the young man until he and his mates were stilled.
Ariel spoke then, and it seemed that another voice spoke through her. A voice so silent that only the heart could hear, yet mighty enough to shatter the youth’s cloak of lies. She said, “It is still not too late for you. But it soon will be.”
“Watch out, man, she’s givin’ you the evil eye.” But the taunt fell as flat as the young man’s tone, drained of energy by what he faced.
Ariel stood and searched each face in turn. The power filling her gave her an ability to see shadows hovering about the young men. With their black sunglasses and black T-shirts and jeans, and with the shadows surrounding them, the youths looked like dark and hungry birds of prey.
Yet even here she saw hope. The Spirit’s power sought not to condemn, but to invite. “Turn away,” she pressed quietly. “Turn away from your evil deeds and thoughts, and hear the Lord’s call. It is your only chance.”
The moment remained frozen and apart from the swirling throng. The young men stood slack-jawed, silent, trapped by the power that flowed from her. Then one of them shuddered and straightened and dismissed her with a contemptuous wave. “Aw, she’s just another one of them religious twits.” He dug an elbow into the ribs of his nearest companion. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Too much of that stuff’ll drive you nuts.”
The young men dispersed, the scene melted back into the noisy tumult of the station, and Clarice touched her arm. “We must hurry,” she said, a trace of new respect to her voice. “Or we’ll miss our bus.”
****
“Can I help you, son?”
“Yeah, uh, maybe.” Manny was not used to politeness. Nor smiles. Not like this. Not open and welcoming. Especially not from a stranger standing in a doorway in this part of town. “I was just looking for somebody.”
“Well, come in, come in. Everybody is welcome here, no matter what the reason. We don’t turn anybody away as long as there’s room. Are you hungry?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Step right this way, then.” The old man moved with the unsteady steps of a dedicated alcoholic, but his eyes and his speech held the clarity of one long sober. He led Manny through the long chamber, where half-filled trestle tables lined a scuffed and ancient floor. At the far end stood a stage and podium and a half-circle of seats. Beyond that rose a simple wooden cross. The opposite corner opened into a kitchen alcove, fronted by a line of women serving food. They were smiling too. “Just grab a tray there, and take what you like.”
“Sandra, this young man says he’s come looking for somebody, but he decided he was hungry too.” The old man patted Manny’s arm and turned away. “Just tell this gal your troubles, son. She’ll take care of you.”
“Hello there.” Sandra was so thin her clothes appeared to weigh more than she did. But her eyes were kind, and her smile came straight from the heart. “Who was it you wanted to find?”
“A girl,” he said. “I don’t know if she was here. But a guard at the hospital entrance said he thought he saw her come in here. She’s, uh, about this tall, blond, wore one of them hospital uniforms, looked like a candy-cane with starch, and—”
“Ariel!” Sandra cried. At the sound of that name all eyes turned their way. Sandra looked toward the kitchen and said, “This young man is looking for Ariel!”
Ariel. For reasons he could not understand, Manny felt a sudden thrill. He had a name for the girl now. Ariel.
A trio of smiling faces appeared from the cooking steam. “Ain’t she just an angel?” one purred.
“Never saw nobody able to lift a body’s spirits like that girl,” chimed in another.
“An angel,” Manny muttered. “Right.”
“How do you know her, what did you say your name was?”
“From the street,” he replied. That didn’t sound too good, so he added, “And the hospital. Sort of.”
“That girl was just heaven-sent,” sighed the third woman. “Why, that very same day she was in here helping us, we had the most wonderful experience.”
“Still can’t hardly believe it, and I was there,” agreed the first woman.
“We know lots of sad cases here,” Sandra said, picking up the story. “It comes with the territory, I suppose. But that day, when was it, my goodness, it was only yesterday. Seems like years ago. Anyway, Ariel was standing right here beside me, when suddenly one of the people she was serving started to laugh. I mean, we hear lots of sounds in here, but we don’t get laughs all that often—at least not this kind of laugh. It
was just the happiest sound, and then some of the children started to sing, and Ariel joined in, my goodness, you shoulda heard that girl’s voice. What was it she sang?”
“It was a hymn,” another said. “I don’t remember which. But pretty soon the whole hall was standing and holding hands and singing and laughing and praising God, good gracious me, I don’t think I’ll ever forget that as long as I live.”
“Strange how I can’t remember what it was we were singing,” the first one mused. “I stood right there and sang for what seemed like hours. Serving folks and laughing with the children and singing my heart out. And now I can’t remember—”
“Anyway,” said the third woman, “Ariel went home with Sister Clarice. Seems the poor girl is from somewhere out of town and didn’t have any place to stay.”
“Out of town,” Manny said. “Right.”
“Sister Clarice won’t be in today,” Sandra said apologetically. “She had to go on a little trip, but she’ll be back in a few days. Why don’t you stop by again. I’m sure she would love to speak with you, especially if you’re a friend of Ariel’s.”
****
“Hey, Manny, long time no see.” The young man motioned tersely with his head toward the empty stool beside him. As Manny seated himself, the guy drained his glass, asked, “What’s going down?”
“Not much.” Manny took in the long row of empty shot glasses in front of the man. “You keeping score?”
“Oblivion, Manny.” The guy set the glass carefully into line, tapping the bottom on the bar in signal for another. “Tonight I am headed for the abyss, and I want to see how much it takes to get me there.”
Needles. That was the guy’s name. Manny had scored a couple of times with him, talked to him on a few other occasions, but he was like a hundred other guys in seedy dives. The names were nothing but labels. They easily melded into one another.
Manny felt the violence simmering under the young man’s taut surface, knew with such an intake it could erupt at any time. Still, he felt drawn to the spot, and for the life of him could not understand why. He sighed in defeat and signaled the bartender. “Mind if I join you?”
“Help yourself. There’s room for everybody where I’m headed.” The guy suddenly found that hilarious and took his laughter with him as he raised his head and drained another glass.
Manny hunched over his drink and the sodden bar, wishing he were somewhere else. This was definitely not his scene. A darkened dive on the corner of gang turf, most of the patrons either underage gang members or bikers, all of them ready to use any excuse or none at all to prove they were tough enough to survive in the jungle they called home ground.
He had headed back toward his apartment from the Salvation Army shelter, frustrated that his search had dead-ended, confused that he was searching at all. There was no reason, no explaining what kept driving him from one uncomfortable situation to another. An angel. It was crazy. The whole thing was nuts. But still there was something, some inner aching, twisting emptiness that just would not let go.
And now this. He had passed the bar as he always did, walking on the other side of the street and going as fast as he could without running. Gang turf was dangerous terrain these days, what with the druggies and the schizos and the young kids looking to earn their rank. But something had made him stop. And then turn and cross the street, despite the fact that his mind kept screaming danger. Crazy. Manny only went into a gang bar on business. But here he was. His feet had drawn him toward the door almost as though he had had no say in the matter.
Needles drained another glass, lined it up, tapped the bar, said without looking up, “Salerno’s looking for fresh meat.”
That was nothing new. Salerno ran houses from here to Vegas. Manny took a cautious sip, checked the bar for danger, felt it everywhere. “So?”
“So me and some of the guys, we were down at the station today. Playing keepers of the gate, you know, talking trash with the babes.”
Manny knew. Places like bus stations and video arcades and downtown burger joints were called gateways. Gangs used them to gather up the unwary, boys and girls alike, and steal them away. Most were never heard from again.
“The religious wackos were there with the sign and the ties and everything.” Another drink, another tap, another glass lined up. Still his voice remained taut, the words clear, as though something was keeping him wound up so tight the alcohol couldn’t do its work. “Got between us and a couple of babes. Nice ones.”
Manny started to draw away, sensing the buildup of tension. But something held him there, an invisible hand that settled him in his seat, clamped him in place, kept him listening.
“Then there was this old lady. Don’t ask me where she came from ’cause I don’t know. And another babe. Nice. But dressed silly. Big old sweater, flapping dress, white shoes like you see on a nurse.”
Now it was Manny who tensed. “Blond hair?”
“Yeah, real nice, like I said, even if she did dress like a bag lady.” Another glass drained, another tap. “So we start on her and the old lady, you know, shoot her the line. And then she turns on me, and man, it was just weird. Like something outta the Twilight Zone. I mean, a real witch. I swear that woman put a spell on me or something.”
Manny turned around in his stool, leaned his elbows on the bar, too anxious to hold still. Yet the invisible hand did not let him go. He sat there, wondering at how it was possible to be where he was and feel led. Like there was something or someone there with him, directing him forward. “You didn’t see where they were headed, did you?”
“Got on the Washington bus, I know on account of I was still watching ’em.” Another glass, another tap, a shake of the head. “Ambushed. Trapped in her spell. Awful, Manny. A nightmare.”
Manny sat and listened and looked out over the scene. Suddenly he felt a chill spread through his frame. In the distant corner the dark shadows seemed to shift. At first he thought it was a trick of the dim lights, but then he felt the invisible hand abruptly release him. Suddenly Manny sensed he was seeing something that had always been there, a threat that knew him and followed him and wanted him.
“Gotta go,” Manny said, sliding from the stool. “Take it easy, Needles.”
“Had to be a witch,” the guy muttered, not looking up from his glass. “Caught me in a spell. Won’t let me go.”
****
“Clarice, over here! Hello, hello, how wonderful to see you again.” The handsome man wore an elegantly cut dark suit with a gray silk tie to match his hair. A gold cross sparkled on his lapel. “I do so wish you would have let me fly you down.”
“Nonsense. Especially when the bus station is only blocks from your church. How are you, Leslie?”
“Fine, fine. Better when we’re away from here.” The elegant man was clearly ill at ease with his surroundings. He led them down the outer sidewalk, skirting around the worst of the bus station’s evening crowd. “We may be only blocks away from the White House, as the tourist brochures say, but we are also only blocks from some of the nation’s most dangerous neighborhoods.”
“Which is why I am here,” Clarice replied primly, not the least disturbed by the cacophony they passed.
“Indeed, yes. Let me take your case. This way, please.” Then he noticed Ariel walking close to Clarice. He started to stop for introductions, but his sense of self-preservation overcame his natural politeness, and he made do with asking over his shoulder, “Who do we have here?”
“This is Ariel,” Clarice replied. “She is staying with me for a few days from . . .” She turned a questioning gaze toward her companion.
“Far away,” Ariel replied vaguely, her attention captured by the spectacle. She stared at a scene almost identical to the one she had left in Philadelphia, the same noise and tumult and anger and danger. Two stations, anchors of darkness at either end of such a pleasant journey. Like so much of what she had seen since her arrival. So much beauty and so much sadness, all mixed and tangled so tightly she
could not look for one without finding the other. “Very far away,” she murmured.
“This is Reverend Leslie Townsend,” Clarice said. To Townsend she explained, “Ariel stopped by our center yesterday. Her first day on the job at the hospital, and wouldn’t you know it, she was robbed. Lost everything she owned, cash, identity papers, everything except the uniform she was wearing. Isn’t that right, dear?”
“Everything,” Ariel agreed.
“How terrible,” the pastor said, and pointed ahead. “There’s our car. I had to bring Hale, my assistant, with me to watch the car. Otherwise we would have found ourselves walking back. Not something you want to do around here, I assure you.”
“Leslie’s church is one of the oldest in Washington,” Clarice told Ariel. “A very beautiful place, although the neighborhood around it has deteriorated considerably. Instead of ignoring the difficulties around them, they have decided to set up a soup kitchen and homeless center.”
“And a day-care center for the children,” the pastor added, stopping by the car and popping the trunk. “Not to mention a group that plans to minister in this very bus station starting tomorrow. But only after years and years of turning the blind eye, I am ashamed to say.”
“Well, at least you are helping now,” Clarice corrected him, smiling at a young black man who had emerged from the front seat. “That is more than most. And from what I hear, you had to go through quite a struggle to get this far.”
“Yes, there was a lot of resistance,” Townsend agreed, and for a moment his handsome face showed the strain and the fatigue. “But thanks to people like Hale and some in the congregation who felt called to help, we are finally underway. Which is why we are so grateful that you would come down and advise us.”
The Messenger Page 4
