Wind Without Rain

by Jim Hallaux

  “Next to us are the restroom facilities and showers.” Nerissa reached behind herself into a cardboard box sitting on the dull carpet. She grabbed a small paper bag and handed it to Merri. “You’ll find soap, toothpaste, brush, and a few other kindnesses donated by our supporters. Keep these with you. You are responsible for all your things.”

  Nerissa watched Merri barely glance into the bag.

  “Pastor John is here weekdays every afternoon from two until four. If you need someone to talk to, he is a great man. Portland is a big city. Let me know if I can help you get around. We offer coffee and donuts or eggs depending on donations between six and eight in the morning. Soup supper is at six. Lights out at ten. Any questions?”

  Merri shook her head. Nerissa gave her a second, then said,

  “All right then. Let me know if I can help. Good luck, Merri.”

  Nerissa stood with a smile on her face. Merri nodded her head goodbye and left the office. The woman mopping the floor stopped and watched the lost girl with her suitcase.

  “It will be time for supper in less than an hour. People will start coming in. Claiming beds. I suggest you pick one and lay claim to it. This one here is still in good shape.”

  Merri nodded and walked over to it. She knelt and glanced around the room.

  How had it come to this?

  She heard clanking of pots and pans on the far side of the room. Volunteers were setting up supper. Merri laid down on her pad in the fetal position and fell asleep.

  Merri fought to wake up. She felt someone pushing on her shoulder. Merri looked up as a man with a full, tangled burnt-orange beard, stared down at her.

  “This is my bed,” he stated. She smelled whiskey on his breath. His weathered face with its deep crow’s feet told of a man that had spent his life under the sun. “This is MY bed,” he restated. His straw-woven cowboy hat, bent with character, showed years of dirt as did his over and under-sized clothing. He began to rant. “This is my bed,” he declared. No one around paid him any attention. Except for the lady that earlier was mopping the floor.

  “Now, Joseph. There are many good beds in the men’s section. She’s a nice girl, right? It’s her first night. Be kind. Help me out. How about this one over here?”

  “Okay,” he said, and the woman led him over to the other bed. As she returned, she winked at Merri who just sat there as if comatose.

  After a few minutes, Merri laid back down and slept through supper.

  December 4

  Merri woke with a start. The room was dark, and the beds were full. An off odor permeated the room. One woman called out loud to her deceased sister. When was she coming to visit, she asked? They needed to plan the wedding. Several others snored through it all. Merri stared out the high windows. The streetlights veiled the stars. Like Merri’s future, they could not be seen. Exhausted, Merri found sleep again as the woman continued talk of a wedding that never was.

  The smell of coffee filled the room. Many sat on their beds eating stale donuts and drinking thin coffee. Half the overnighters had already left. Merri walked over to the breakfast table. Nothing looked appealing, but she was famished. She took a donut and the cup of coffee handed to her and went back to her bed. The donut gone in seconds.

  The mop lady, Ruth was her name, had returned to work and watched Merri. Ruth brought another donut to Merri and knelt next to her. Merri smiled as she received the pastry. Ruth patted Merri on the shoulder as she rose to return to her duties.

  As Merri slowly finished her coffee, the room cleared out, the volunteers cleaned up the food line, and Ruth set about pulling the blankets on the hundred-plus beds. As she worked her way up a row, she neared Merri. She sat next to her again.

  “You need to figure out what to do,” Ruth said. “Don’t you have a friend or relative where you can stay a while?”

  Merri knew Ruth was right. The family she nannied for might help. They were close by. Merri looked at Ruth but said nothing. She reached for her suitcase.

  “The bus stop,” Ruth offered, “is two blocks down and a right turn.”

  Merri nodded and left.

  She headed for the stop. As she walked, she tried to comb her hair with her hands. She should have showered while at Grace Gospel Mission, but it felt dirty to her. Now she felt dirty. She found the bus stop and stood there as several buses passed by. She was ashamed to plead with the Clintons to give her shelter.

  Merri was lost.

  In the end, she turned and wandered aimlessly through the streets of Portland.

  At three, she returned to the shelter. Pastor John sat at a small wooden table near Nerissa’s office. Merri chose a different pad. She wanted nothing to do with Joseph, the crazy man from last night. She stowed her suitcase by the bed pad and sat watching the pastor. He looked up and smiled. Merri looked down. Alone, she sat on the bed. An hour later, as the pastor was leaving, he walked by Merri.

  “Hi,” he said, “I’m Pastor John.” He waited for a response but did not receive one. “Have a blessed day.” With that, the pastor left.

  Right before six, Joseph returned to the shelter and saw Merri on ‘his’ bed. He walked over.

  “That’s my bed,” He declared.

  Merri did not want a problem and moved. Grabbing her suitcase, she would sleep somewhere else. Merri Sue chose a bed two over and set her case down.

  “That’s my bed,” Joseph stated behind Merri in a loud voice. She turned. Merri realized no matter which bed she chose; the crazy old man would declare it his.

  Just then, Ruth came over.

  “Cowboy Joe, come on. Leave the pretty girl alone. Wasn’t it nice that she gave you your bed over here?” She walked Joseph back to the first bed.

  Another woman a bed over spoke up.

  “Ruth, he is here all the time. What happened to the three-night rule?”

  “The owner’s brother,” she whispered. Merri looked at Joseph with new understanding.

  December 5

  On Merri’s third day at Grace Gospel Mission, she had yet to use the showers. Yet to speak to the pastor. Yet to ask Nerissa for help. She roamed the streets. Lost. Before soup supper, Nerissa asked Merri to join her in her office.

  “Merri, this is your last night here. You realize that, right?”

  Merri nodded.

  “Pastor John tells me you have not spoken to him. You have not asked me for anything either. What are you going to do tomorrow?”

  Merri shrugged her shoulders. Nerissa knew Merri did not belong in this environment. She reached into her desk and pulled out a business card.

  “Here is a card for The Sisters of Mary. Go there. Promise me you will at least do that.”

  Merri looked at the card.

  “It’s close by. They won’t badger you about religious stuff.”

  Merri nodded.

  “Good. You come to see me any time. Just to say hi. Or if you need help.”

  Merri stood up. It was time for soup.

  30

  December 5

  A biting December breeze found a crack in Merri’s coat. She pulled its collar tighter around her neck. The sky cast a gray hue over the town and her mood. She looked back at Grace Gospel Mission. It had depressed her when she first arrived there. Now she was walking away. She turned to face the city around her.

  She could not get warm. Her bones shook. She passed a building whose front was all glass. Inside, a young man in coveralls with ‘Jack’ embroidered on them polished the latest new cars. She looked up. ‘Chevrolet,’ said the sign.

  The man smiled at her. She knew nothing about cars, but it would be warmer inside. She pulled on the glass door and entered. He stood up to greet her.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  Merri nodded.

  “We’re not open yet.”

  Merri slid her hand over the fender of a baby blue and white Bel Air. Jack checked her out. Her clothes were unkept. Her hair a mess. His boss would be upset if he let a homeless person in the showroom. I
t was bad for business.

  Merri’s stomach growled. Her body warmed up. The shaking stopped. She giggled and danced through the Biscaynes and Corvairs. Her arms flailed. The man believed her to be crazy. Was she?

  “Look. You’ll have to leave. My boss will be here any minute.”

  Merri ignored him, continuing to dance.

  “Seriously,” he said grabbing her arm. She stopped dancing glaring at him in fear. Merri ran from the showroom floor returning to her Nowhere World.

  She walked, head down. Men. Always cause problems for me.

  “New to all this, huh?”

  Merri was caught off guard. She looked up. There, bundled on a park bench, sat Cowboy Joe. He never looked up, his eyes hidden under the brim of his straw hat. She kept walking.

  “You’ll find temporary warmth at the library. Down Burnside to 3rd. Left three blocks.”

  He knew where her head was at. He had seen it countless times in the past.

  Merri kept walking. The last thing she needed was another man, crazier than most, telling her what to do. As she walked, the wind pelting her face, his idea sounded better and better. She turned on 3rd and headed north. As she entered through the library’s double doors, the warmth swept over her.

  She stayed there all day except for the purchase of two hot dogs from a street vendor a block away. Merri flipped through Life and Time and Sunset magazines unable to focus on any of it. An article on building a new home caught her eye and made her think about her carpentry training at Job Corps. About Tom. Her heart saddened.

  “We’ll be closing in five minutes,” a librarian announced to Merri.

  Merri nodded. Donned her coat and grabbed the suitcase. Walking down 3rd, she glanced up the side street bordering the library. A homeless man had wrapped himself in a worn sleeping bag under the library’s heating vent. Merri neared the man. He looked up at her. She outstretched her arm asking if she could join him. He gave her an ‘I don’t care what you do’ look and closed his eyes.

  Merri pulled the last copy of the Oregonian from a nearby newspaper stand and lay on the hard cement sidewalk. With the paper draped over her, she struggled to insulate herself from the night’s cold bite. Despite the harsh environment, exhaustion overcame her, and she fell asleep.

  December 6

  The body ached. The joints stiff. Merri stretched reaching to the sky. She was famished and decided to treat herself to a good breakfast. She found a cheap diner, sat at the counter, and ordered two eggs with bacon, hash browns, and a glass of orange juice. The guy sitting next to her got up, so she quickly grabbed the newspaper he left behind.

  It bored her. All they talked about was the Viet Nam war. She tired of it. Many of her school friends had died over there or disappeared to Canada to avoid the draft. One friend, Tony, ‘disappeared’ and every year at Christmas time, government agents visited Tony’s mom asking her if she had heard from him. Everyone, they said, connects at Christmas. She would tell them no. They would press her for the truth, and she would break down in tears. Sad.

  She pushed the paper away and finished her eggs. As she accepted the third refill of coffee, she decided she needed a game plan. Late that afternoon, she would go to the couple she nannied for, humble herself, and seek help. Could I nanny for them again?

  The paper said it would reach 62 degrees today. She headed for the park close to Grace Gospel Mission. She would spend time people watching until the Clinton’s got home.

  As she entered the park, she saw Cowboy Joe on a bench with a shopping cart full of his possessions next to him. A tarp was tied down over them. She changed her path. He noticed.

  “I can help you,” he called out.

  Right. Like you’ve helped yourself.

  She continued to walk.

  Cowboy Joe let her be.

  31

  December 6

  The bus heaved left then right as it headed from Job Corps down Leif Erickson Boulevard to downtown Astoria. Tom winced as the driver threw the stick shift into third, grinding its gears. Rain pelted the windshield. His mind never stopped thinking of Merri.

  Where is she?

  It was Saturday night and no Merri to share it with.

  Where is she?

  As Tom got off the bus at the terminal next to the John Jacob Astor Hotel, wind gusts drove the rain sideways smacking his face. He tightened his jacket collar. He lingered in the station for the rainfall to ease but lost patience. It was only twelve blocks to the guy’s basement. No problem.

  The winter sun had set long ago, and the temperature had dipped into the forties. He looked forward to the basement not because it offered warmth but at least it was dry.

  Tom shoved the door open. The usual suspects, Pete, Joe, and Bill were hanging out. The new guy, Mr. X, sat next to Pete.

  “Hey, Tom,” someone called out. “Come on in. We’re just laying plans to put the People’s Army on the map.”

  Tom nodded and, kicking debris aside, created a space to sit on the floor.

  Peter took charge.

  “Tom, Mr. X was just saying we need two blocks of C-4. I have a connection in southern California. Bill and Joe are going with me to get it. Any chance you can come with us?”

  “Not for the next couple of months.”

  “Too bad, my friend. It’s our big plan. First step: make a statement. We demolish the John Jacob Astor Hotel.”

  “Because?”

  “Because we can! We’re the People’s Army. The ‘Man’ will learn he must reckon with us. We get attention from the masses. They rally behind us. We demand the ‘Man’ deal with us.”

  Peter bobbed his head waiting for Tom’s endorsement. Mr. X looked on, analyzing each young man’s face, their reactions. Bill was exploring his ear wax. Joe retied his Keds’ shoelaces. Mr. X had worked with many idiots in the past. He wanted to understand how these idiots would react. How they might wreck HIS plan.

  Tom was incredulous. While the government was in a full-scale war dropping napalm on Charlie in Nam, his friends thought they could take on the United States with a few blocks of C-4.

  “Seriously? What happened to the guys I used to hang with? Not a care in the world. Now you want to blow up the world.”

  “With Mr. X’s expertise in explosives, yes,” Peter said.

  “So, Mr. X is the expert, but you guys need to supply the C-4?"

  “And?”

  “And why doesn’t Mr. X have the connections if he’s dealt with explosives?”

  “Well, his connection died in an accidental explosion,” Pete stated.

  “This is sounding better by the minute.”

  Tom looked at this Mr. X guy who only stared back at him. Peter tried to regain control.

  “You’re not seeing the big picture, Tom.”

  “I can see enough. You guys are knuckleheads.”

  “Hear out our plan,” Peter begged. “You’ll see it makes sense.”

  Tom calmed down. He came to see the guys to get his mind off Merri. This should be entertaining. Stupid, but entertaining.

  If Pete could somehow find his Southern Cal explosives source, the guys would head down to pick them up. Mr. X would pay for the C-4 and show them where and how much to place in the tunnels below the hotel.

  The chances of any of this happening were about zero.

  The winter solstice was Sunday, December 21st, at 5:21 pm. They will blow the hotel then, declare it a new season for America, and their movement will begin.

  The solstice is not a season, Tom thought, just the shortest day of the year. These guys should have stayed in college!

  “Well, I’ve heard enough. Much as I share your hopes for a better country, I can’t be part of this. My life is in a good place right now.” Assuming I find Merri. “Good luck.”

  Tom stood.

  “Whoa. Don’t go. We’ve got some good shit to smoke. Stay and enjoy.”

  “Sorry, guys. I’ve gotta catch the bus back.”

  Andre watched him leave.


  “Can we trust him? He’s not going to rat on us, is he?”

  Joe shook his head as he watched Tom leave. He’s going to miss out on all the fun.

  Andre stepped out of the basement.

  “Hey, Tom.”

  Tom turned to see what Mr. X wanted.

  “I confess I am a bit nervous about working with the People’s Army guys,” Mr. X pretended to confide in Tom. “Easy for them to make a mistake. Say the wrong thing. Get scared and rat on their friends… or me. I don’t know.”

  “Not the sharpest knives in the drawer, for sure, but loyal, yes,” Tom told him.

  “Still, if something were to go wrong, it’s a lot of years in the pen. I need a backup plan. Some insurance. You hear me?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I mean, while the hotel blows up, the chaos that will follow would be a great cover for something else. Something rewarding to us. Just you and me.”

  “Like?”

  “You asked, ‘What’s in it for me,’ right? Well, across the street from the hotel is a bank. If the hotel blows, why couldn’t the bank go too?”

  “Are you out of your mind? That’s a Federal crime.”

  “Yeah. You’re right. Well, it was a thought. Some extra money would get you and this girl you like off to a good start, huh?”

  “Yeah. But I’m not blowing a bank. Period.”

  “Okay. Okay.” Andre pretended to think some more. “Wait. What about this jewelry store you’re working at? No Feds involved.”

  “Stop. I told you, I’m trying to clean up my life… not destroy it.”

  “Right. Well, think about it at least. Let me know if you change your mind.”

  32

  December 7

  “So, let me get this straight,” the officer said, “a group of guys wants to blow up a bank to make a name for themselves and take over the world. That about sum it up?”