Clean Sweep

by E. B. Lee

  “I like Rocky. You’re right. He’s doing great.”

  “Several others too. Even some you’d never know had it rough once, got themselves in and better together. Don’t give up on them,” said Mercy. “Can’t ever do that, just ask Grant. He never gives up.”

  Carli was in no mood to ask Grant anything. Instead, she steered her questions to Mercy, “What about Canada? And Wilson? Cedric and … and Vera?”

  “Forgotten any?” asked Mercy.

  “Well, Harry and Sarah.” Carli’s voice dulled.

  “Don’t ever say never,” said Mercy.

  With Mercy’s shot of optimism, Carli returned to the streets to see a shimmering sword of sunlight slicing through the remaining gray cloak of clouds. In the distance, she saw a single opening to blue heaven above. All the snow was gone. She took it as a sign of good things to come.

  Grant finally answered his phone, but Carli wasn’t sure he was paying attention once he switched their conversation to the speaker mode. She decided to share her decision with him anyway. “I am going to visit Sarah on my own,” she said. “I am as ready as I will ever be, and I don’t think Sarah cares if I wait or not.”

  “Whatever,” said Grant. “Sounds okay.”

  “Just okay?” She heard him yawn.

  “Sounds okay,” he repeated. “No one’s gotten through to Vera or Sarah. Go for it.”

  The line was silent for a while until Grant said, “I’m thinking of quitting.”

  “What?” asked Carli. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. It’s Mercy. She gave me flack for the atrium,” said Grant. “You told her about it, didn’t you?”

  “You know I spoke with her about it. I already told you,” she said.

  “You did? Don’t remember.” It sounded like he yawned again.

  “She told me you would never give up on any of them,” said Carli. “Why would you quit? You’re more resilient than that.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Forget about it. I need to go do something here.”

  “Grant, are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Like you said, I’m resilient. Probably just tired.”

  “Well, get some sleep. Sounds like you need it.” When Carli said, “And I’m going to visit Sarah,” she wondered if she wouldn’t be better saying, “And I’m thinking of quitting too.”

  Like Cedric’s cans, Sarah’s bags had cost her a chance at housing. Grant had presented the details. It was nearly a year ago, he had said, when he and Sarah made it to a shelter Uptown, prepared to bring her inside. Carli remembered his description vividly.

  “She wouldn’t take a shower,” Grant had said.

  “A shower?”

  “Everyone going into the shelter gets deloused.”

  Carli remembered gasping.

  “They spread fast,” he had said. “Never knew if it was the shower or the storage situation that kept her out. Doesn’t much matter,” he had added.

  So, the shower had been out, and so was Sarah.

  Carli stared down the benches in the park. The trick would be sitting as close as possible to Sarah’s self-imposed boundary without causing Sarah to draw the invisible door shut. Carli sat three benches away. Sarah stood, but neither looked at Carli nor neared. Instead, she organized her bags on her cart, and, with Carli’s eyes trailing behind, Sarah rumbled along the path and out of the park. Carli had come too late. Carli returned home and cuddled next to Lila and Terrance, wondering if she would ever help anything more than a couple of dogs.

  Sixteen

  “Vera. Dear-a, Vera,” said Carli with a light-hearted voice. “How are you doing today?”

  Vera turned, with a smile on her face, and said, “Oh, it’s only you again.”

  Carli smiled. Vera was happy to see her. Carli looked at Vera hunched against the standpipe and asked, “Are any Sweepers out?”

  “Yeah, they’re out. But I’ve kept away from them pretty good.”

  “What else is new?” asked Carli.

  “New? Nothing that I know of, except that snow came and went fast. That’s a good kind of new.”

  “You said it. Spring’s coming.” Carli leaned against the deli window so Vera didn’t have to look into the sun. Then she asked again, “What else is new?” It was now her standard greeting. Seemed to get Vera talking, or, at least, bringing a slight glimmer to her eyes.

  “Just the usual,” said Vera. “No SROs left anymore. Swallowing them up fast.”

  Carli had heard this gripe once before, but let her continue.

  “Them developers is developing and redeveloping everything they can get their hands on,” said Vera. “They keep pushing us residents out for tourists. Pricey hotel rooms they made out of ’em all.”

  Carli knew the city had prohibited Single Room Occupancy over fifty years before, and the majority of its rent-stabilized units and SROs had since been lost. It wasn’t new news. Vera was stuck.

  “They’re making efficiencies now, Vera. Nice ones,” said Carli. “More and more of them. Mercy at Four Bridges can tell you about them. She’ll even help with the paperwork and application.”

  “What do I need that for?” asked Vera.

  “Did you ever live in an SRO?” asked Carli.

  “Ahh,” said Vera. “Now we’re talking.”

  “We are?”

  “Yes, indeed. Met my husband there. In Minnix House. He lived next floor up.”

  “Minnix House,” said Carl. “Haven’t heard of it. Is it still here?”

  “Oh sure. The building’s here, but nothing like it used to be. Can’t afford even a quarter of a closet in it now,” said Vera. “Make that a closet shelf. Not even one lousy shelf.”

  “They redid it?”

  “Oh, yeah. Only millionaires can afford my old room. That’s all it was. One room. It’s all I needed. My husband, too, but he wasn’t my husband then. No ...” Vera paused to reflect. “We met there. He started courting me there. Used to walk me up the stairs to my room, and then continue on up to his. I used to listen to his footsteps going all the way up the stairs and then down his hall until I couldn’t hear them anymore.”

  “Sounds romantic,” said Carli.

  “Romantic? Sure, it was. We had next to nothing, but it was plenty. We had a roof over our heads. Can’t do that anymore. Can’t afford nothing. And then they went and tored the place apart on us. Couldn’t afford it. Couldn’t afford much else either. We got married. We were in love, yes, we were in love. And we were also practical.” Vera paused, in thought.

  Carli took another chance. “Where was it?” she asked, hoping to finally be given the key to Vera’s home.

  “Where? You’re practically looking at it,” said Vera.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Over there,” said Vera. “That one with the gold dome. He proposed right over there. Third floor. Happiest day of my life up to that point. I can still see him there.”

  Carli looked over Vera’s shoulder and saw the gold dome catching the early afternoon sun. She knew the building. Vera was right. It was a four-star hotel with high-end clients.

  “So, it’s like being with him again. You standing here, I mean,” said Carli.

  Vera took in a deep breath and said, “I think I’ve gone and done enough talking for today. I need to catch me a bus.”

  It was another broken heart, bearing down. In a different sort of way. All Vera wanted was to be with her husband. Either back at Minnix House, or on the other side of life. No wonder she didn’t want a doctor’s visit or medical care. She was simply waiting it out. Vera rode off on the next 103.

  Carli looked out across the Atlantic Ocean while Lila and Terrance ran through froth left by waves on the shore. She was finally in Cape Cod. Lila and Terrance raced after seagulls and sniffed dead crabs and plastic containers until their little tongues hung down and they panted from happy exhaustion. Then, she settled them into her car so she could get to work. Carli had never sketched from inside a car, but it seemed a
logical method for multitasking dog control and rough sketches. The water was deep-sea gray, and the rolling of the waves was longer than in New York waters. Round, water-tumbled stones covered parts of the shore, in contrast to the large granular sand to which she was accustomed. The colors of the Cape differed as well. She put it all to paper and added notes. Surprisingly, what caught her attention more than the water, were the boats. Everything from yachts, fishing rigs, oil tankers, and container ships, to two-person motorboats, sailboats with one, two, three sails, and more. Even a few kayaks passed close to shore, low to the water, looking like toys. In their unique ways, the different vessels were designed to take on the powerful Atlantic. They hit the waves at different angles, leaving behind signature trails of wake, and making a possible study in itself, she thought.

  Moving to the bay side, Carli took comfort in finding marshland protected from the oceanic winds and waves. She watched flocks of birds enjoying that same comfort, along with near-shore feasts in calm waters. Carli suddenly thought of all the wildlife that routinely lived relatively unsheltered, doing naturally what people didn’t do. Then she thought of Vera, with her navy-blue anklets and feisty personality, and she thought of Blazing-Blue Sarah with her pigeon hook and gentle cooing. She smiled and realized how important they had already become to her. It was wrong for them to be on the streets, unprotected. One way or another, she was going to reach them.

  Several days after her trip from the city, Grant phoned. Carli welcomed the chance to talk and maybe determine his condition. Instead, she learned he was on a mission. “I haven’t seen Cedric for almost a week,” he said. “He’s been off radar and I’m worried about him. Wonder if you can help me look. To cover more ground.”

  “What’s the big rush?”

  Her question seemed an annoyance. He wanted a yes or no answer, but Grant obliged. “He was fighting off a cough. I have a hunch it’s not the flu. The way he looked a couple of days ago, he’ll be toast if he runs into that can-stealing punk again.”

  “What do you mean, not the flu?”

  “Could be pneumonia. Or worse. It’s one of those instinct things.”

  Carli felt an odd sort of panic. She agreed to the search. Grant barked out her territory, and said, “Call me at two, whether you find him or not.”

  Carli immediately started walking. The only thing she found, in an hour of pounding the pavement, was a fickle wind snatching hats as it skipped through the urban canyons. Cedric remained invisible. Midday, she overlooked the financial district from the roost of steps leading to the sprawling corporate terrace of McClean Towers. A line of flags, jutting overhead from second-story flagpoles, snapped loudly as energetic gusts took hold of their cloth. Many tried to dine in the spring sun. Blasts of wind hawkishly stole their meals and whisked them away like tumbleweed. Tantalizing aromas blew past as well. From her vantage point, Carli saw spring leaves just beginning to pop on trees lining the streets below. Under their developing canopies, she spied a familiar figure. Canada, in his usual street attire, was an anomaly in a sea of men and women in dark, tailored suits, with shoes polished to a shine. Carli descended, hoping to learn something of Cedric.

  Canada had leaned his backpack against the building and was using it as a seat. Carli watched him converse with a man in a suit. Then she saw him pull a silver cup from his coat. If he saw her, he didn’t show it. She witnessed her first sale. It looked as much like a donation as any. In a mere five minutes, Carli saw two more donations. He was right, they needed him. She was shocked.

  “No luck,” said Carli, phoning Grant at the appointed hour. “I found Canada doing business; he hadn’t seen him.”

  “An education, I’m sure. The streets are dead. No sign of Cedric anywhere here either. Call if you see him on your way up.”

  It was hard to imagine a homeless person missing. She called the city morgue.

  “Someone else called about him this morning,” said the woman.

  Carli knew it was Grant, which revealed the depth of his concern. Thankfully, no one matched Cedric’s description, with the familiar gap between his front teeth.

  Carli started searching again for Cedric early the next morning. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t her day for Outreach or that he wasn’t technically on her visit list. Cedric mattered, now that she knew him, or knew of him, at least. She respected his work ethic, and Cedric had a certain allure—shy but witty—that sporadically appeared, giving hint of who he might really be. Her sense of protective oversight these days applied equally to Wilson and Canada, drugs and all. How had she gotten here?

  A search of Penn Station offered nothing. A couple of Cedric’s known alleys were vacant. Carli was certain Grant was looking too. After scouring a five-block grid, she decided to check the station one last time. Carli barged through the Penn Station door and saw Grant walking to Cedric’s bench from the opposite direction. Together, they spotted Cedric, back home.

  “Thank God you’re here. How’re you doing?” asked Grant.

  Blood spotted a rag Cedric used as a handkerchief. “Hurts a bit – my head, and down here a little.” Cedric motioned to his chest, then conceded, “Just about everything hurts.”

  Carli touched her wrist to his forehead and conveyed her findings to Grant through raised eyebrows. A phlegm-soaked cough left another unsightly glob on his rag as if to corroborate her finding.

  “You need to see a doctor,” said Grant.

  Cedric rose slowly, without argument.

  “Three blocks,” said Grant. “Walk or ride?”

  “Walk,” said Cedric. “Always walk.”

  Cedric trembled his way up the stairs.

  “Where have you been?” asked Grant.

  “Subways, mostly. Found a good heater. It’s colder than hell out here.”

  Carli and Grant exchanged glances. They had left their jackets at home.

  The clinic was overflowing, as always. Unfortunately for Cedric, lacerations and other wounds came first. Grant rose every ten minutes, nearly to the second, as they waited. Over the course of an hour, he paced and spoke with a receptionist three times, lost his temper once, and, with no change of queue, sat with one ankle crossed above his knee and his foot impatiently twitching.

  “I’m going uptown,” Grant finally announced. “Meeting a housing officer. It can’t be changed. Can you stay here with him?”

  Carli’s art could wait. Leaving was never a thought.

  When Cedric’s turn finally came around, Carli helped him off with his coat and deposited him in an examining room. A few short minutes later, a doctor reported to Carli. “My guess is pneumonia, maybe tuberculosis. Has he been in a shelter?” she asked.

  Thanks to Outreach, and nudges from Grant, the answer was an unfortunate yes.

  “They check for it,” said the doctor, “but it still runs through sometimes. We’ll get samples – blood and sputum – and a skin test. Best to run an x-ray while we’re at it.”

  Cedric had moved into the doorway to hear the prescription. “Ain’t nobody gonna prick me,” he said.

  The doctor looked to Carli. She turned to Cedric. “It’s the best way to know how to treat you.”

  Cedric headed toward the door. Carli gently touched his arm, but he swung his arm upward and was free. He walked surprisingly quickly, given how ill he looked. Before she knew it, Cedric crossed through the waiting room and was back on the sidewalk. When Carli stepped outside, Cedric had vanished.

  “I heard,” said Grant the next day. Carli had passed up another morning of painting to meet him at Four Bridges and reveal her failure. “I called the clinic. It’s not your fault,” he said.

  “Easy for you to say. You didn’t see it.”

  “I’ve got a connection,” said Grant. “We’ll get it done.”

  After Rocky, Grant’s connections sounded sketchy, but she and Grant marched to Penn Station, where they found Cedric in his usual spot. “I heard you ditched her,” said Grant. Cedric turned his eyes away from Carli as she
settled at the far end of his bench. She thought she saw his lips curl slightly upward.

  In a matter of minutes, Grant had Cedric on his feet, heading up the stairs. Reaching street level, Grant said, “It might be pneumonia, but there’s a chance it’s tuberculosis. You’ve heard of it?”

  Cedric grumbled.

  “It means we can’t play games.” Grant waved his arm in the air and smiled. “Perfect timing.”

  A blue and white medical van pulled alongside the curb. A moment later, a woman hopped out of the passenger side’s open door. It was the first time Carli had seen mobile medical. With a mask over her nose and mouth, and blue gloves covering her hands, a woman approached. Carli was certain Cedric would bolt. Instead, he leaned slightly against Grant, who steadied Cedric with one arm only.

  “Mr. Cedric, I’m Riley, your Nurse Practitioner, and I’m here to help. We need to see what’s the matter with you and get you better. We’ll even drive you to the hospital, if needed, to see what’s going on, and start treatment. What do you say?”

  “I don’t like medication,” said Cedric.

  “It’s better than staying sick like this, or worse.”

  Cedric folded his head further into his chest.

  “Come on, man. I know you can do it.” Grant gave it a try. “I’ll go with you. And don’t worry about your cans. I have storage all my own.”

  “Once you’re on your own feet, it’s likely just pills,” said Riley. “Could be for a while, but I know you’ll be feeling a whole lot better than you do now.”

  “Worst case,” added Grant, “you meet me here every day or so, just like always, and we do your meds together.”

  Cedric’s eyes rose for a split second to siphon input from Carli’s face.

  “We’ll help. Just like Grant said.”