The Land At The End Of The Working Day by Crowther Peter

Author:Crowther, Peter [Crowther, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: PS Publishing
Published: 2008-03-15T05:24:22+00:00

* * *

The three men at the table sit and stare.

Jack Fedogan stands and stares, the seemingly ever-present glass that he polishes held limply in one hand and the towel in the other.

Over behind them, Edgar, Jim and McCoy hear the sound of chair legs being pushed roughly across the floor. When they turn around they see Bills Williams standing up at his table and staring across at the new customer.

It’s a night for staring, though none of the other patrons—the irregular regulars—are paying any attention to Front-Page McGuffin.

“Hello,” says Front-Page, like he’s been here every night for months, but stammering the word and making it come out in a kind of croak.

Jack Fedogan leans on the bar and shakes his head. “Front-Page,” he says, “Where you been hiding yourself?”

Front-Page McGuffin looks around like he’s seeing the place for the first time, frowning and blinking his eyes. As they watch, Edgar, McCoy and Jim notice one of the eyelids seems to hang down longer, like it’s got stuck on the way back. Front-Page lifts his left arm and starts swinging it towards his face, the fingers moving slow and robotic like the pick-up-a-prize machines out on Coney Island. Eventually, the hand gently connects with Front-Page’s neck and then crawls—there’s no other word for it—crawls its way up onto his chin and then around the cheek up to the eye socket where one of the fingers extends and pushes the lid up. Front-Page rubs at it, blinks a couple more times, and then drops the arm by his side.

“Not … well,” says Front-Page, leaving a big space between the words. “How you guys?”

Edgar gets to his feet and moves to take Front-Page’s hand, having to lift it up from the man’s side first, and pumps it furiously but carefully. “Good to see you,” he says, “been a long time.”

“Long time,” Front-Page echoes.

He looks to the other two men at the table and then walks across stiltedly, listing to the left at first until he whacks himself on the hip. This seems to cure the trouble and he makes it all the way to the table without further mishap. His co-ordination seems to have improved a little but it’s still shaky, like he’s not in control of his movements. Front-Page takes hold of Jim Leafman’s hand, shakes it and says, “Jim.” Jim nods, returns the shake.

“How about that?” Edgar is saying to Jack Fedogan.

“Something’s wrong,” says Jack, keeping his voice low.

Over at the table, McCoy Brewer is reaching his hand across to Front-Page but Front-Page backs away, looking at it in a kind of blank-faced horror … a quiet desperation.

McCoy looks across at Jim and then over at Edgar and Jack. “What did I say?” he asks, but Front-Page is already making his way around the table. When he reaches McCoy, he leans forward and takes hold of McCoy’s hand in both of his own and shakes it emphatically. “Bad luck,” says Front-Page, shaking his head slowly and uncertainly, looking like maybe he’s already had a few Happy Hours of his own before hitting the Working Day.

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