Smokes Chapter 1 : UPDATED - COMPLETE.
The old hag walked down the street, trying to hold a newspaper over her head as protection from the torrent of rain. She walked crooked and had scraggly grey hairs in places unnatural for hairs to grow. A gust of wind tried to steal the newspaper but she held firm.
“Slow down, Datzen,” she yelled to a small black dog running along with her. It ran several feet in front of her then stopped, gazing back and wagging its tail before returning to her side. A rather heavy downpour fell on the two, probably from some rain-gutter high above in this walled street. The apartments on either side stood several stories and would often hold the water until it applied too much pressure.
“Damn, Smokes.” An old man in a faded green jacket laughed from behind his cigar. “You’s all wet.” He chuckled again and adjusted his beanie as the hag growled at him.
“Why I oughta do all sorta inconveniencing to you, Manny,” the hag replied. “Ain’t no necessary to callin’ me Smokes.” She waved the newspaper in Manny’s direction, trying to shake the rain water in his face. He’d been rained on all day but Smokes felt strongly about the principle.
“Git ‘im, Dat, git ‘im,” she waved the dog with her other hand. The dog yapped and jumped excitedly.
“Ol’ woman,” Manny replied with a smile, “you know you jus’ blowin’ smoke when you talk. Why don’t you get yourself outa this rainfall?”
“Ain’t never smoked and ain’t about it, an I ain’t blowin’ nuttin when I talk! They’s done sumin to me all sorta unfriendly.” Smokes stared at Manny who was scratching Datzen between the ears. “An I’m hungry, ready for sumin eat. C’mon Dat!”
“You don’t even know who or what.” Manny scratched his head as Smokes walked off with Datzen in tow. He shouted after her: “You can’t remember what ain’t true!”
The walls of buildings remained constant as Smokes walked crookedly towards the shelter. All sorts of faded colors she passed like patchwork. Some of the windows were boarded and others had bars surrounding them. The street was thin but had a deep shoulder where water congregated and sped off towards the sewers. Various models of vehicle passed quickly on her right, often splashing the fleeing liquid into her red sweater.
There’d be food at the shelter and maybe it’d be warm. I hope it’s beef stew… It usually wasn’t beef stew. Beef stew was served on Friday and Smokes never went to the shelter on Friday on account of the ‘rotten food’ served on that particular day.
“You like beef stew, doncha Zen?” Smokes never could decide what to call her tagalong. It usually depended on how she felt at the moment. Dat this, Zen that, Datzen if it’s neither. She’d remember names of her friends, though, if she had any. Manny? An interesting fella but not her kind.
Datzen just yapped along with its tongue hanging out, running along the curb and chasing the water that was rushing towards the “do not dump trash in the sewer” sign that was usually covered in old cigarette boxes or dirty clothes.
“I sure like beef stew…”
Another gust of wind blew the newspaper from her hands. Beef stew made her weak in the fingers…or maybe it was just so weak from all the rain. It left tiny shreds between her fingers of what used to be a homely story about a housewife who foiled a robber by offering him some spaghetti and chocolate cake. He’d chosen to enjoy a meal and she called the cops before chopping his head off with a machete.
“By the cat’s wallop!” Smokes sure loved that phrase but be darned if you ask her what it meant. At this moment it meant she lost her rain gear to the street. She looked both ways to see if any four-wheeled doomsayer was nearby. The rainfall was too loud to hear anything but her visibility wasn’t any better. Were those lights from a car or from a home? She couldn’t tell and the newspaper sitting between the lines hadn’t really kept her dry anyway. “Cod puckery!” she exclaimed as she wiped the water from behind her eyebrows.
Up ahead she saw the neon sign of the old discotheque-the new homeless shelter-and she hobbled a bit quicker. The red arrow was the only thing that remained from the era she’d spent doing uppers and getting all Polly-wanna-you-know-what. Those were the days! But now, in the gray in front of her and the waves crashing into her side from the passing vehicles, Smokes only knew or cared about walking inside and eating her beef stew.
“No beef stew, today,” a young man called when Smokes walked in. He was a handsome fella, perhaps late twenties. She didn’t recognize him which means she didn’t consider him a friend.
"The hell're you?" she hollered at him. "And why you tellin' me there ain't beef stew? Always been beef stew!"
He looked up from the thick, brown shlop he was pouring into a bowl and smiled. “Name’s Frankie, and there’s only beef stew on Friday.” Smokes glared at him from the doorway, Datzen yapping at her legs. “Today’s Wednesday.” He stood straighter and ran a hand through his dark brown hair, smiling with encouragement. “You coming inside? It’s pretty wet out there.”
Smokes scanned the room. It didn’t look too threatening, unless you considered all the over-aged, underachieved half-wits a threat. Smokes did not, despite being nearly all three herself. The floor tiles looked somewhat more menacing than any particular member of the staff or those eating at a table. There was a mixture of saturated mud, oil and other various watered-down liquids she was certain once belonged on the inside of some living creature.
She walked in slowly as Frankie returned to his next bowl. “How ya doin, Smokes?” he asked loudly over the din of the crowd. Smokes turned to him quickly.
“What you call me, boy? Name’s not Smokes, ya pea-shooter!”
Frankie just raised his eyebrows a bit and smiled at the next bowl. Smokes got in line and waited. When it was her turn, Frankie leaned a bit too close.
“And what is your name?” He nearly whispered the question. She stared into his eyes and thought. She hadn’t heard her real name in a long time, but what…was it? Did it start with an A? No…did it start with an L? Probably not.
“I’m not…sure.” She scratched her head with one hand as she extended the bowl in her other. “Maybe it’s Bernice?” Completely random. Totally random. Frankie’s face fell slightly but enough for Smokes to notice.
“Bernice, you say?” He stood back and grinned, waving his free arm in the air. “Hey everyone,” he shouted, “this is Bernice!”
The man waiting in line next to her nudged her forward. “Move it, Bernice.” Others chuckled or scoffed, but most simply ignored Frankie’s revelation. Smokes felt her cheeks warming has Frankie dropped a ladle full of someone’s thick diarrhea into her bowl.
“This ain’t beef stew,” she grumbled as she smelled the bowl. The man behind her pushed harder and Smokes turned to slap him.
“Come on, Smokes.” Frankie held up a hand and turned his head slightly to look at her. “Just go have a seat and I’ll bring you some of those spices you love.”
She walked backwards, stumbling a bit but holding her balance. “I don’t know any spices.”
“Sure ya do.” Frankie kept watching her as he ladled the bowl for the impatient man. “You love your spices.”
Smokes grumbled to herself and shuffled away, decaying shoes squishing with each step. She nodded to Datzen who was sitting at the entrance. “Come on, Dat,” she yelled. The dog scampered in, sliding on the wet linoleum.
Smokes took a seat at one of the empty aluminum tables, the sounds of her bowl echoing from underneath just as Frankie sat down across from her.
“Whada-ya-wan?” Smokes shook her head and raised her spoon in his face. “I told you. I don’ have any spices!” Frankie pulled a shaker from his pocket and set it down on the table between them. It was full of flakes of color Smokes rarely saw on the street, and even less in her food. “What is it?”
“Your favorite spices.” Frankie motioned toward the shaker with his hand. “I can only give them to you once in awhile, when the boss is away.”
Smokes pushed the shaker lightly with her spoon, then tapped it. At length, she cautiously picked it up and smelled the contents. Frankie interrupted her thoughts.
“How’s Manny?”
“Huh?” Smokes looked up from the shaker. “Oh, he’s fine.” She heard squishing and she glanced at the entrance. A tall man in a dark suit walked in casually.
“How about your kids?” Frankie asked nervously as he glanced at the man. Smokes looked again and saw him speaking to another shelter worker who pointed at Frankie.
“You’re talking crazy,” Smokes shot back, turning to face him. “I have no children!” She smelled the spices again and began to shake, then stopped. She looked at Frankie through narrowed eyes. “Do I have kids? I see faces…”
Frankie’s gaze darted between Smokes, the spices and the man squishing ever closer. “You’re right,” he finally said, putting both hands on the table. It reverberated and frightened Smokes enough to unwittingly shake a portion of spices into her food. Frankie closed his eyes then continued calmly. “You’re right,” he forced a smile, “I’m mistaken.” The smell of the spices in Smokes’ food made her smile just as the well-dressed man squished next to her. Datzen jumped up next to her on the seat, growling.
“Sie nimmt es?” The man asked in a booming voice as he looked down at Smokes. She caught his eyes, dark and demanding. Frankie nodded.
“Ja, sie tat.”
“Gut.”
The well-dressed man began to squish away and Frankie’s eyes darted between him and Smokes.
“Alles klar?” he asked hastily. The well-dressed man stopped, turning slowly to look at Frankie and Smokes once more. The three remained silent as Smokes took a sip from her newly spiced meal. Finally Frankie turned to Smokes. "Tell me about the faces you see."
"What're you on about?" Smokes nearly choked on her third spoonful. "I ain't seein' no faces! Ain't a crazy-person!" She took a fourth.
The well-dressed man smiled at Smokes and nodded briefly in Frankie’s direction. “Alles klar. Für einer Zeit.” With that, he spun on his heels and walked out.
Frankie let out a long breath, hanging his head down.
“Whuzzat all about?” Smokes asked through her sips of spiced food. Frankie stood and eyed her a moment before speaking.
“If you can’t remember, it’s probably best to believe it isn’t true.”