Geoff Nicholson - Street Sleeper

He’s been rehearsing this.

‘How’s that?’

‘The idle’s too fast. You’re wasting petrol, not doing your engine much good.’

‘If you say so.’

‘I can fix it.’

This is true. Adjusting the idle on a Volkswagen is one of the few mechanical jobs Steve can tackle with confidence.

‘Is it a big job?’ she asks.

‘Ten-second job.’

‘In that case…’

He fiddles with the idle adjustment and the engine settles down.

‘Do I owe you anything?’

‘Don’t be silly.’

‘Well that’s kind of you.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Cindy.’

‘Amazing. Really all-American. What do you do?’

She gives him a look as though he has asked her to explain relativity.

‘I mean, what does anybody do?’ she says. ‘I run around in circles mostly, don’t get anywhere, try to make sense of it all, try not to get too burned out. I drink too much, do too many drugs. You know — the usual.’

‘Sure. The usual,’ Steve says.

She drives off.

♦

Ishmael never had many friends when he was at school. He never made friends at work. But it never seemed to matter all that much. He was comfortable. He lived at home. He read books and watched television. He went out with Debby. Friends never seemed important.

Now life was uncomfortable. He didn’t have his parents to hand, didn’t have a job, didn’t have books or television or Debby. Yet here, when he might have been at his lowest ebb, when he was most lost and alone, he had found himself among friends.

A lesson there, he thought.

♦

Steve, what does he do? He works. He watches television, plays his records, drinks and generally wastes his life. It seems the obvious thing to do.

They know him in the local pubs, that is they know him as the one who arrives early, drinks too much and leaves late. One lunchtime he arrives at the pub and sees a Lotus parked outside. It belongs to Kyle. It is unlocked, the windows are wound down and the key is in the ignition. Steve reaches into the car, removes the key, puts it in his pocket and goes into the pub. Kyle is drinking gin and tonic at the bar. They ignore each other. Steve has a few drinks down his end of the bar. Kyle has a few down his. Kyle says goodbye to Tom the landlord and goes out to his car. Then he comes back.

‘Tom, give me that phone. Get me the police. Some bastard’s made off with my key.’

Steve looks up and makes a sympathetic face. While Kyle is phoning Steve leaves the pub, puts the key back in the car’s ignition and goes home. It might have been interesting to see what happened if and when the police arrived but it is safer to leave.

Another time he sees Cindy’s Beetle in the car-park of a steak restaurant. It is late. He has, naturally, been drinking. He is feeling quite self-confident. He finds a piece of paper in his jacket and writes on it, ‘I AM ONLY A POOR PETROL-PUMP ATTENDANT BUT I LOVE YOU’ and sticks it under her windscreen wiper.

Another day Jerry wants to see him. Steve is not hard to see.

Jerry says, ‘I’ve been hearing that you were a bit out of order with Tim.’

‘Who’s bloody Tim?’

‘Tim Kyle — he owns the video shop.’

‘Does he? I always wondered what he did besides giving me a pain in the arse.’

‘He tells me he had a bit of bother with his car keys. I think you know what I’m talking about.’

‘I might know what you’re talking about, but I don’t know why. If Kyle’s got something to say to me, he doesn’t need you as a messenger boy, does he?’

‘Don’t push your luck, sunshine.’

‘Tell Kyle not to push his.’

Male aggression — what a joke, thinks Steve.

‘I thought we might be able to avoid any unpleasantness,’ Jerry says.

‘You thought wrong.’

Somebody needs serving. Steve goes and serves them. That’s his job.

♦

They walked the few miles to Fox’s Farm. The ironies of this weren’t lost on anyone. It just seemed appropriate.

‘When you ain’t got nothing, you’ve got nothing to lose,’ Ishmael said as they walked.

‘Sometimes I feel as though I’m living through a modern-day myth,’ said Marilyn.

And all the time they walked Ishmael was thinking. All the time he was working out a plan — The Plan. He would need to be very persuasive, but he knew he had it in him.

The first member of the commune who saw him arrive was a tiny blonde woman whom he had hardly spoken to on his previous visit. She was thrilled to see him. She kissed him. She bounced up and down. He seemed to have made her day.

‘You came back,’ she shouted excitedly. ‘We hoped you would. In a way we knew you would. This is where you belong. We need you. You are the sunshine of our lives. Wait till I tell the others.’

The evening meal at Fox’s Farm was a great occasion. The other members of the commune were every bit as delighted to see Ishmael as the tiny blonde woman was. John the Hippy made a speech of welcome. Everyone else was still pretty sullen but they were obviously making an effort, and by their own standards they were embarrassingly warm. They were friendly, admiring. They were downright worshipful.

Sausage and beans and mashed potato were served for dinner. The communards constantly asked Ishmael if things were good enough for him. He said it was all fine. They were very concerned. He could have anything he wanted — more beans, brown sauce, anything. At first he found all the attention overwhelming, but it didn’t take long for him to get used to it.

He made a short speech. He knew it wasn’t great. It was a bit too general. He talked about the problems of the world today, the need to stamp out evil and capitalism, about the lack of spiritual insight, the misguidedness of middle class values, the lack of communication between people, and the fact that the devil incarnate was alive and well and living in a house called ‘Sorrento’ in Crocken-field.

He didn’t feel that he was at his dynamic best, but it all seemed to go down very well. Later he would tell them The Plan. For the time being they knelt at his feet and he placed his hands on each of the members of the commune in turn.

♦

A few weeks pass. Steve has had enough. It is September. It is getting cold. He doesn’t want to be standing on the forecourt all winter.

Then one day Kyle comes back. It is seven in the morning. The place is quiet. Steve is running the station on his own and has nearly finished his shift. Kyle pulls up at the pumps.

‘I suppose you want petrol,’ Steve says, doing his best to sound insolent.

‘It’s full of petrol,’ Kyle says. ‘I just want to use your toilet.’

‘Jerry wouldn’t like that,’ Steve says.

‘I’ve already had to speak to Jerry about you once.’

‘Had to?’

‘Just do your bloody job and give me the key to the crapper.’

Steve can see Cindy’s Volkswagen about to pull into the petrol station. He has to think quickly. He enters the office, gets the toilet key and gives it to Kyle. Kyle goes into the toilet and the door closes itself behind him. Steve gets a tyre lever and jams it in the door so it won’t open. He gets a container of brake fluid and empties the contents over the bonnet, wings and doors of the Lotus.

Cindy has pulled in and is waiting for petrol. She looks like she’s been up half the night crying. Steve starts pumping petrol into her car. He can hear Kyle struggling with the toilet door, trying to get out. The tyre lever won’t hold him long. Steve puts the nozzle back in the pump and screws the petrol cap back on Cindy’s Beetle.

‘You’ve hardly put any in,’ she says.

Steve opens the passenger door and slides in beside her.

He can see the paint on the Lotus already starting to curdle. He can see the toilet door about to burst open.