Page 237 - Eggs and Ashes pages

236 Eggs and Ashes

It took tough love
(from Night Shelter)

Isaiah 43:1–4

It was my job to ask anybody new their name. There was a tough-looking young
man shovelling sugar on his bowl of cold cereal. I went over and introduced myself.
He didn’t answer, or look up. When I asked him his name he told me to fuck off.
The next night, I approached him again.
He growled, and said his name was Donald. When I asked him his surname, his
hands clenched into fists.
‘Duck,’ he said.

Although he made me want to keep a safe distance, I’d try to make some contact
when he came into the shelter. I’d offer him something to eat. I’d ask about the
weather.
It was some time before we had our first true conversation:
‘Fuckin’ brilliant dumplings,’ he said one night, ‘these home-made?’ He tried
another spoonful and his dead eyes lit up. ‘So who made these?’ he asked, and
glanced round.
I sat down beside him.
He told me he’d lived with his granny when he was a boy, and that she would
make him beef stew with dumplings.
‘Brilliant,’ he sang, digging in.

It took a long time before he really opened up.
It took the homey smell of Norman’s cooking.
It took people remembering his name, and giving him a warm welcome when
he trudged in from the cold.
It took Ray’s knock-knock jokes.
It took straight talk.
It took Sue finding him clean clothes and a decent, warm coat.
It took a long time.
Then, one summer evening, he told me his story:
We were sitting out on the church steps. He told me that he was a professional
chef and had worked in a restaurant downtown. He’d worked his way up, but then
lost his job when the place went bust. After that, he lost his flat and started sleeping
on the streets.
He nursed a tall can of Strong Brew – he was rattling, he said, and took a hit; the