Greg Gifune: Sorcerer

“He’s still out there.”

As he sat up, Jeff’s perspiration-soaked back peeled away from the bed sheet. He squinted drowsily at the clock on the nightstand. The numbers were a jumbled blur. “What are you doing up?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Perhaps carelessly, Eden stood nude at the apartment window. “I needed something cold to drink.” She held up a bottle of water in evidence. “It’s after midnight and he’s still out there.”

“Of course he is.” Jeff swung his feet to the floor. “That’s where he lives.”

“It’s ridiculous. No one should be living on the streets in this day and age.”

“I’d call the cops,” he said through a yawn, “but they won’t do anything.”

“Why would calling the police be your first reaction? He’s not doing anything wrong. He’s not a criminal, Jeff, he’s homeless.”

“Let him be homeless someplace else.”

“Don’t be so cruel.” Eden ran the cool plastic bottle across her brow and down along her flushed cheek. “He’s harmless.”

“How would you know?”

“He seems harmless, OK?”

“The guy’s probably a drunk or a drug addict-maybe both-and there’s a good chance he’s mentally ill. Most of them are, you know.”

“Well I feel sorry for him,” she muttered.

“Bums are bums for a reason. They’re usually bad news, these guys. For all we know he could have a criminal record a mile long.”

“And he could just as easily be someone who caught a couple bad breaks and found himself out on the street.”

Jeff searched the nightstand, located his eyeglasses and slipped them on. “Jesus, get out of the window.”

“It’s dark, he can’t see in.”

“No wonder he’s been trying to talk to you lately.”

Eden pushed a wisp of short brown hair from her eyes. “If you don’t get a job soon we’ll be out there with him. And then people like you can say horrible things about us too.”

“People like me?”

“You used to be a lot more compassionate.”

“That’s when I could afford to be. I don’t see anybody helping us, do you? We’re all on our own in this life.”

“And here I thought we had each other.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Not sure I do, actually.”

“Don’t turn this into an argument, OK?”

Eden delicately placed her free hand flat against the screen, as if to touch the night itself, or perhaps escape into it. “The bills are piling up.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

She faced him, pale breasts cutting the darkness. “If something doesn’t break soon-”

“I said I’d take care of it.” Jeff stood, peeled his boxers from his thighs and headed out of the room. “I need some aspirin.”

Eden looked back at the street two stories below. The man huddled at the base of their steps was watching her. He could see her, and they both knew it. For reasons unknown even to her, Eden felt inexplicably drawn to him ever since he’d first appeared on their street a few days before. Ignoring the rapid beat of her heart and the tingling in her nipples as they slowly stiffened, she wiped a trickle of sweat from between her breasts but made no move to cover them. The man gazed up at her, a crippling sorrow filling his eyes as he slid one hand down the front of his soiled pants.

She held his stare with an impassive version of her own. The man’s hand moved slowly at first and then more quickly. He nodded at her, encouraging her to take it farther, his hand jerking furiously now. She could see his lips moving but couldn’t hear what he was saying, just vague whispers in the night.

The man took a quick look up then down the avenue. No traffic, no one else on the street. As his stare returned to her, he unzipped his pants and pulled his erection free, stroking himself in plain view.

She stared at what he’d exposed, knowing it turned him on.

A throaty moan escaped him, echoed along the otherwise empty street.

Eden closed her eyes. A shiver breached the stifling heat and coursed through her. Absently, she dropped a hand to her upper thigh, fingertips just inches from the soft mound of pubic hair and the beginnings of wetness between her legs.

“I’ve got a splitting headache.” Jeff’s voice snapped her back as he returned to the bedroom. “Not sure if it’s allergies or what.”

She casually slid her hand up onto her waist. “It’s probably stress,” she managed, clearing her throat.

Jeff sat on the edge of the bed and watched shadows slink along the smooth contours of his wife’s bare back. Glistening with perspiration, her flesh looked like it had been sprayed down with a fine mist. “I was having a dream,” he told her. “Just now, before I woke up.”

“What was it about?”

“I was here, in the city, but I was lost and I couldn’t find you.

It was like I had no memory of the city at all. I just kept aimlessly wandering the streets looking for you. I looked everywhere, but I couldn’t find you.”

“It’s OK,” she said softly. “I’m right here.”

Eden opened her eyes. The homeless man was gone.

Jeff left the apartment earlier than usual. As he exited through the main doors at the end of a small lobby, he saw the man sitting on the front steps. His clothes were filthy and ragged, his thinning dark hair snarled and matted, and the scraps of material covering his feet just barely qualified as shoes.

“Excuse me,” Jeff said firmly, “but I’ve asked you not to hang around here. If you keep it up I’ll have to call the police, understand?”

The man looked at him through bloodshot eyes and scratched at the heavy growth of stubble along his chin. “Why do you hate me?” he asked in a raspy voice.

Eden’s face came to him just then, her words from the night before ringing in his ears. You used to be a lot more compassionate. Jeff continued to the bottom step. “Look,” he said, attempting a considerate tone, “I don’t hate you, all right? But you make a lot of people in the building uncomfortable.”

“Then how come you’re the only one who gives me a hard time? I’ve never done anything to you.”

“Don’t you have anywhere else to go?”

“If I had anywhere but the street, don’t you think I’d be there?”

Jeff found himself studying the man closely for the first time.

They were roughly the same age, middle thirties, and he couldn’t help but wonder how things might’ve been different had their lives taken even slightly altered courses. Maybe they’d have been friends or colleagues, or maybe their roles would’ve been reversed. “Isn’t there anyone who can help you get on your feet?”

“I wasn’t born like this you know.” The man did his best to smooth his hair into place with his grimy hands. “I used to have everything you’ve got, things just went bad. It happens.”

Jeff reached for his wallet. “Listen, I just lost my job recently so I’m not in a position to do much, but let me give you a few bucks.

Go get a bite to eat and clean up a little.”

The man stared at the twenty in Jeff’s hand. “I don’t want your money.”

“Just take it and go, all right?” Jeff thrust it at him a second time.

The man struggled to his feet and slowly walked away.

Whatever, Jeff thought. I tried. He returned the money to his wallet and started off in the opposite direction along Massachusetts Avenue. Their apartment, located in Boston’s Back Bay, was only a few blocks from the Boston Commons public park. Their neighborhood consisted largely of residential three-story walkups sandwiched one against the next that catered mostly to long-term tenants or college kids renting apartments from local college-owned buildings. But for the nearly constant traffic along the avenue, it was a nice area, though one Jeff couldn’t be sure how much longer they’d be able to afford.