Atmosphere — Chapter 06. Seek, Perhaps You Shall Find §

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

 

Chapter VI
Seek, Perhaps You Shall Find

 

There was work to be had. Every day, at several meeting points, the day’s tasks would be assigned to those who showed up.

Karl arrived late. Edvard had arrived just before. Each nodded to the other.

That day was Edvard’s, though he was the last chosen for a job. Karl missed out. However, he was happy for his friend’s opportunity.

Edvard was excited, boasting how his fortunes had now turned for the better. He was oblivious of Karl who was standing beside him. He went to the front and sat with the day’s chosen. Karl, though sad at being ignored, remained happy for the other.

 

 

Edvard had taken a strange turn of late. After the reveal that day of the fealty oath, Karl should have been crushed. Though the knowledge had left him nonplussed, he carried cheerily on.

Instead, it was Edvard who had been in low spirits. Had the old man relieved Karl of what rightfully should have been his sadness? If there had been some transference by empathy, should he feel guilt from this gift?

He wanted to discuss this with Edvard; however, from the other’s poor mood he was at a loss for how to broach it.

 

Regardless of Karl’s confusion, Edvard’s promise to remain together, after the other side of the oath, grounded the young man’s thoughts: though they were of different clans, they adopted each other as family.

Edvard had proved true. He had arranged a flat for them to share. It wasn’t much, he apologized, as he had to be frugal with his meager bindle; however, to Karl the lodging would more than suffice. He felt comfortable to be with his friend, regardless of where they found themselves. To him, the single room flat was a wonderfully happy place. It was their home.

 

 

For the remainder of the day it stayed with Karl that Edvard being chosen for work was a happiness. Now, Edvard would be distracted. The job would relieve him of the nervous energy he had too much of. In the evening he would be tired. Too tired to think. Too tired to fret.

But when the evening came, Edvard did not return to the flat.

 

The next day, Karl showed up at the meeting point. This time he had been early; however, still no luck of a job. He looked for Edvard in the crowd. But, his friend was not there. He assumed the job carried on, and was happy for the fortune. The next day was the same. And the next. Days blurred in repetition. Still, no Edvard.

 

A morning arrived. It had been raining earlier. Heavy clouds threatened more downpour. With no prospects, Karl walked down an alley wet with the stink of rubbish. He made his way past the worst of it. The sun emerged through the clouds causing the end of the ally to transform into a portal of brightness. It pulled at his attention, causing him to step into something soft and squishy. He didn’t notice because at that moment, Edvard appeared into the light and moved to cross the street. Karl ran to catch up, excitedly shouting the other’s name—wondering what adventure had befallen his friend.

Getting closer, he slowed. Words were not necessary. The expression of Edvard’s body, on his face, became apparent: Dejection. No job. Back on the street.

Karl was shocked to see how sickly tired the old man had become. In a few days, he seemed to have aged years. Edvard wouldn’t acknowledge him. Undaunted, Karl matched his pace, walking instep.

This continued until the way was blocked. They stood, almost shoulder to shoulder waiting for a crossing light to change. Edvard mumbled incoherent words. Karl listened, trying to decipher them. What he could make out was that Edvard was embarrassed that they wouldn’t use him anymore. The job had only lasted a day. He had been declared too decrepit for work. He had been sleeping on the street since, too embarrassed to return to their meager flat.

The light changed. Edvard turned to look directly at Karl. He said, “This isn’t working out for any of us. High Steward be damned—he and all the other of the Stuart clan.” And then he crossed the street.

Karl was left at the curb dumbfounded. He watched the old man disappear into the crowd.

 

Unbeknownst, it was the last time Karl was to see him. Though he searched in vain for weeks, he did not give up hope. He couldn’t. For his friend to be alone again, without family, that would be too terrible.

 

 

Karl sat at a corner table in a cafeteria restaurant. He had chosen this table as it was out of the way, inconveniently distant from the door traffic. He sat nursing a chipped cup of brown water that passed for coffee. There was purpose for his being there: he watched the workers.

Rhythm was searched for in their movement until a pattern emerged. It became apparent, obvious even. Most interactions followed a reoccurring movement, in mindless ritual. If a deviation occurred, there was confusion. What adjustment would be required, and from whom?

A woman would join the interaction. Was she the chief of the restaurant perhaps? Her clothes were less raggy than the others. Her hair was better kept. Her cheeks, more rosy.

 

The cup had long since cooled. Now it was suddenly emptied. The last of the vile contents were swallowed with a gulp, over the teeth and gums, before there could be protest. A decision had been made. Now, to action.

He stood a moment before walking off. There had been a table littered with breakfast remnants. It was particularly messy—particularly ignored. He offered to help by just doing it, bussing this table. This had been the decision. He almost held his breath, but nothing happened. No one stopped him.

He tried another table, clearing away the remnants, leaving it clean, set-up and ready for the next patrons.

And then another.

This went on for a while. The workers saw. They didn’t move to stop him.

The nicely dressed woman with her nicely kept hair and rosy cheeks came over to him. As she approached, he really did hold his breath.

She studied him. On her face was an honest smile. A query: Could he set up a new table? There are folded tables stacked leaning against the far wall. Bring one over and set it up just here.

Her request ended with, ‘please.’

Karl happily assisted, carrying the table upon his bent back.

After this table was set, he went back to bussing. Movement continued on. He had joined the rhythm of the restaurant.

The fading day ended. The workers departed.

 

The next day, he was back. The nice woman nodded at him from across the room, indicating. She came over with a small package. It was given to him. Tearing the paper open, inside was a shirt adorned with the design of the restaurant colors.

The workers wear shirts like this one, he thought. Now I am a worker.

A smile was flashed as she turned, eyeing him sidelong.

He rejoined the movement of yesterday: bussing and setting tables. It was a start. Small acts of kindness were exchanged through the day.

 

He had the shirt. It was carefully kept clean. Every evening it was washed regardless of the hour so the next day would be met with the shirt clean.

 


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