L is for A Little Rain Never Hurt No One

He's missing the thumb on his left hand and two fingers on his
right. His left thumb has been completely removed, taken off back to
the wrist, while his right hand misses only the last two, smaller
fingers, and then only from the first knuckle. I don't know his name
but he's definitely not from around here, I'd remember those hands.
He's playing a left handed, three string guitar; his thumbless hand
strums gently, almost idly, at the strings in an effete upward stroking
motion that belies a complexity to the tune, the two fingers of his
right hand move deliberately across the frets. The top two strings of
the guitar carry the melody while the last, low string, untouched by
his right hand, is used for only for a continual bass thrum.

He's obviously still learning the tune, he keeps going over parts of it
again and again, swearing in a hushed, solitary whisper when he gets it
wrong. He's sitting outside the bar and I'm sitting opposite him, my
back against the thin wooden pillar that holds the sunroof over the
porch. He's wearing a wide brimmed hat that hides his face but there's
enough of interest in his hands and instrument to hold my
attention.

We can't get in the bar yet, nobody can except for the Ice Man who's
mule is parked outside, sweating and farting in the already blistering
heat, it's a mangy old animal and it attracts the flies. He never ties
it up, no bugger would steal it and the damn things too lazy to run
away. The bar will open soon enough but never early, not for no one and
especially not today.

Some will always go out in the sun but not me, I'll stay damn clear,
it'll burn your skin and fry your mind. Some have skin that doesn't
burn and minds that are already fried. Klaus is the German dwarf who
runs the chemists, he comes walking down the road with a one-two
quickstep that keeps him level with his companion. It's the butcher's
son, a little slow but handy with a cleaver. The butcher keeps him out
back most of the day where he expertly dismembers corpse after corpse
and bakes his feeble brain under a naked sky. He's a good boy at heart
though, everyone knows that, and getting damn tall these days, a
spotty, greasy, gangling thing that steps in loose, clumsy strides as
if his sense of balance has yet to catch up with his recent growth
spurt, which may well be the case. I had no idea the two of them were
friends but its not the strangest thing I've seen, not even this
morning.

They stop outside the bar and realise it is still closed, Klaus checks
his watch while the boy examines the shut door closer.

'I'm running fast.' Says the dwarf.

'Only to keep up.' I say but nobody acknowledges the joke.

The boy moves over to pet the mule, the mule looks on with the stoic
indifference it treats all attention, kind or cruel.

'When's it open then?' Asks Klaus to nobody in particular.

I wait for the guitar player to answer but he remains completely
distracted trying to play his guitar.

'Soon enough.' I say, I don't own a watch.

Klaus sits against the pillar next to mine, he makes a great show of
collapsing his old legs, funny because its not that far down for him,
the boy maybe. He is already wearing his suit, I thought I'd wait for a
drink before going home and changing into mine. The boy is looking
awkward in his, probably an old one of his fathers, it is designed for
a shorter, larger man, it rides up at his wrists and ankles and hangs
loosely around his trunk and crotch, a tight belt creases the trousers
up against his skinny waste. I have had to buy a new suit for the
occasion, that's why I don't want to take it out and ruin it sitting
outside the bar, I look pretty slick in it, even if I do say so myself.
The stranger is dressed in dusty jeans and a dusty shirt, everything is
dusty this time of year so he doesn't stand out.

'Who's he?' Klaus asks, gesturing to the man with missing fingers
playing the strange guitar.

'Don't know.' I reply. 'Who are you mate?'

'Tom.' He replies, without looking up.

'Tom.' I repeat to Klaus.

'Does he play anything less maudlin?' The dwarf enquires.

The stranger stops playing and looks up at him. He has a weather beaten
face that looks as if it was dragged fifty miles through the sand and
dirt to get here. His eyes sink into his skull and his jaw hangs too
far below, giving him a sad mouth and strange, prehistoric appearance.
A thick mop of unruly, curly hair remains untamed by his large hat and
spills out wildly, he hasn't shaved in at least a week.

'Even today?' he enquires.

'Especially today.' Replies the dwarf.

The man looks down and fiddles with his guitar, struggling to remember
how to start the tune. He starts strumming the base string upwards with
all four fingers moving one by one, stops and tries twice more before
finding the rhythm he wants, it is a fast, jaunty bass line that
already has toes tapping from myself and Klaus. Then, with the bass
string still going, he turns his attention to his right hand and
awkwardly manoeuvres it into position and after one false start
launches into a swift and cheerful melody that dances and weaves around
one simple but catchy phrase, never once sounding either unfamiliar or
repetitive. Occasionally the stranger surprises us and sings a verse in
a strange, guttural language that I don't recognise, his voice is
parched and low but the phrasing and tune are good.

'Cool!' Exclaims the butcher's son as the reel begins and he starts to
dance in the street, wheeling round in joyous circles and concentrating
hard on his feet while his hands dangle freely, held horizontal at the
elbows, rocking and swaying in sympathy to the motion of his body. He
dances to the mule who looks on, unimpressed.

'Come on Klaus.' He shouts, excitedly.

The dwarf catches my eye, looking for an accomplice. He is not going to
find one.

'What the hell.' He says and moves out of the shade to dance.

I content myself with watching them, smiling and tapping the rhythm out
on the wooden floor with my knuckles. Somebody looks on disapprovingly
from behind a net curtain but what the hell do we care. Klaus skips
backwards and forwards with his hands waving above his head in some
German folk dance that only he knows, the boy makes it up as he goes
along. Together they work up a sweat in their Sunday best under the
morning sun.

The guitar player moves on from one melody to another, never letting
the bass line slip, and the boy has an idea. He climbs up onto the mule
which never even shifts a foot under the extra weight and pulls himself
onto the roof.

'Come on Klaus.' He shouts, beckoning so as to pull the dwarf up with
him.

'Get down you fool.' Shouts the dwarf.

'You come up here.' Retorts the boy, overexcited, 'The views
great.'

I wonder what there could possibly be to see from up there, more dirt
maybe, but Klaus shrugs and allows the boy to pull him up with
unnatural strength, and together they start dancing on the sun roof.
You can tell where they are because the boards creak ominously and
clouds of dirt fall down, I put on my hat to shield my eyes and wait
for the whole thing to collapse, the stranger plays on
regardless.

From the bar the Ice Man emerges and stands in the doorway looking
suspiciously at the underside of the sunroof as it buckles and creaks
under the abnormal strain.

'What's going on out there' The landlord shouts, unseen, from
inside.

'They're dancing on the roof.' The Ice Man shouts back.

'Tell them to get the fuck off.'

The Ice Man walks into the centre of the street so he can see the
unlikely couple jigging on the roof, he looks up, shields his eyes
against the sun and shouts at them 'Get the fuck off.'

'Oh.' Says Klaus, realising the games up.

'Sorry sir.' Adds the boy and the both of them climb gingerly
down.

The Ice Man shakes his head and retreats back into the bar, closing the
door behind him.

The pair sit back down and the guitar player lets the tempo of his
tunes drop, though he keeps them relatively cheerful, or at least not
miserable. He doesn't sing again.

'Do you think we'll get into trouble?' The boy worries.

I dismiss his comment with a shake of the head.

'What do we care.' Answers Klaus, 'You need a little trouble to make it
worth the going.' He smiles at me and I smile back, we have both caused
a little trouble in our time, occasionally together.

'What're you two doing together anyway?' I ask.

'Mr Arbeit's given me a job.'

I look to Klaus and he nods in conformation.

'I thought you had a job, working for your father.'

'Oh I don't like cutting up all them little animals.'

'And what does your father think of your leaving?' I say, wondering
where such sentimentality could have come from in any offspring of the
butcher's.

'I'm eighteen now,' replies the boy indignantly, 'and I can do what I
like.' This answers my question nicely.

'You eighteen already?'

'From Thursday last week.' He says with pride.

'Congratulations, you'll have to let me buy you a drink.'

'If this place ever opens.' Adds the Dwarf.

'Give it time.' I say.

'You got the time Tom?' Klaus asks, swilling the name around in his
mouth.

'Nope.'

'Go and see if you can find out the right time so I can set my watch
boy.'

'Yes sir Mr Arbeit.' Says the lad and he gathers together his long
limbs and bounces down the road in the direction of his parents' house.
We watch him depart.

'I didn't know you were hiring Klaus.'

'Yeah.' Comes the reply. 'I wasn't really looking as such but the boys
a good worker and I felt sorry for him. Anyway I could use some help
about the place.'

'He'll be good for reaching up to the high shelves.' I add,
joking.

Klaus gives me a good-natured scowl. 'Job was yours if you'd have
wanted it.'

I let the comment pass. The guitar player plays on and we sit there
waiting for the butchers' son to return with the correct time or the
bar to open, whichever happens first.

'You going to feed him one of your special pills then?' I say.

'I think that would do for his little brain once and for all.' Klaus
replies, looking over his shoulder to check that the boy is nowhere in
sight.

'Don't tell me you haven't been tempted to find out how he'd
react.'

'As I recall you tried to have sex with a spade.'

'It was a rake, I thought it was Kate Moss. As I recall you stole a
car.'

'That doesn't even rate against screwing garden equipment.'

'It does if you're not tall enough to see out the window and spend the
entire time standing on the accelerator pedal.'

'Touch?. Whose car was it anywhere?'

'We never found out, we just left it back where we found it.'

'No we didn't, you pushed it in the river.'

'I did not.' I reply indignantly, 'You drove it into the desert and I
took it back after you passed out.'

'You did?'

'Yes. And it wasn't a car it was a van.'

'Yeah, well it wasn't a spade it was my coal shovel.'

The butcher's boy turns up again. 'What was?' He says.

'Frank slept with a shovel.' Says Klaus.

'Oh.' He seems perplexed. 'I sleep with my leather gloves.'

'But we don't want to hear about that.' Adds the dwarf, quick as a
flash.

'I sleep with my guitar.' Says the stranger, looking up again and
pausing his tune.

'You do?' Asks the boy.

'Yep. If the bed isn't big enough I lean it up and leave my hand
resting on it.'

'Freak.' Mutters Klaus.

'How come?' I ask, 'Nobody's likely to steal it, they wouldn't have the
digits to play it.'

He thinks before answering. 'It's comforting to have something always
there.'

'Should get a teddy bear.' Says Klaus.

'I lost my teddy bear.' Says the boy.

Klaus raises his eyes and cuts the lad off before he can continue.
'What's the time?'

'What?'

'You went to find out the time, what is it?'

'Oh yeah. Mum says its ten thirty five and dad says to say "Don't
worry, the bar will open soon."'

Klaus scowls at the last comment and sets his watch.

'Is that ten thirty five now or when you asked?' I inquire.

'How do you mean?' Says the boy.

'If it was ten thirty five when you asked your mother what the time is,
what is the time now.'

'Oh' says the boy, looking concerned, 'She just said it was ten thirty
five.'

'How long ago did you ask her?' Asks Klaus slowly.

'I don't know. Do you want me to go ask her again?'

Klaus hangs his head in mock despair then looks accusingly at me. 'No.'
He says. 'I'll call it ten thirty eight, that's got to be near as
damnit. You weren't gone that long.'

'Mum says I'm not to be late for the funeral, it's at twelve
o-clock.'

'I know.' We both answer in tandem.

'You here for the funeral Tom?' Asks Klaus.

'Yep.'

'Knew her well?'

'Nope.'

'Yep. Nope.' He repeats with disdain. The stranger takes no notice, he
goes back to playing his guitar.

'That poor girl.' The boy says to the world in general, as if thinking
out loud. 'She was nice.'

'Ja.' Says Klaus mournfully, slipping back to his native tongue. 'It's
a terrible loss.'

I nod an agreement. 'Have they any idea who did it yet?'

'Last I heard, she was last seen getting into a van with some
vagabond.'

'But they don't know who?'

'Apparently not.'

We sit in silence, the stranger continues to pick idly at his guitar,
only practising. The murmur of the Ice Man and the landlord talking can
be heard but not translated through the closed door. An old man walks
down the street in front of us, he doesn't spare us a glance. Across
town preparations will be being made for the reception.

'What I don't get. What I would really like to know, is what could have
possessed her to run away like that?' Says Klaus, filling in the
silence.

'Nobody knows.' I reply, redundantly. 'Maybe she was unhappy, some
people are.'

'I don't believe it.'

'You'd be surprised, people with the nicest lives can be miserable as
sin. You never know what goes on in somebody's head.'

'True.' He admits. 'But I still don't believe it of her.'

'I know what you mean.'

'She always seemed so cheerful.'

'Yeah but what do we know, perhaps her mother abused her.'

'That's sick Frank.'

'I'm not accusing.' I defend myself. 'Just saying that we can never
know. There must have been some reason to make her leave.'

'Well there's no point in supposing like that is there, doesn't help no
one.'

I say nothing, I have nothing to say.

'Her poor mother. To lose a kid like that.'

We hang our heads.

The butcher's son says: 'They said she was cut up pretty bad.'

'Don't talk of such things.' Klaus commands.

The boy continues regardless: 'Mrs Sticha thinks I did it, I heard her
say so.'

As quick as a flash I say 'Don't you listen to that rubbish.' but Klaus
drowns me out:

'That mad old bitch doesn't know what she's talking about half the
time. Wandering round town everyday spreading gossip and rumour that
she makes up as she goes along the malicious old witch. You don't
listen to a word the old cow says. She should be locked up for
spreading rumours like that, does more damage than any nut with a knife
I'll tell you that, and this isn't the first time.'

The ferocity of the diatribe stuns me. The stranger stops playing,
whilst Klaus pauses for breath he says two words to the boy: 'She's
wrong.'

'Her son's a nutcase you know.' Continues Klaus, glowering at Tom for
interrupting him. 'I used to prescribe him lithium. When she says he
works for the government she means mending mail sacks, he got locked
away for exposing himself in a playground somewhere up north. Whacked
his dick out in front of all these seven year old kids. That sort of
thing's almost always hereditary. Mad old bitch.'

'How do you know all this?' I ask.

'I told you. I used to prescribe him lithium.'

The stranger picks his guitar back up and starts idly picking at it,
there is no tune anymore, just experiments and chords and little snaps
of phrases that he tries and tries till he gets them right. His
remaining fingers move awkwardly, without grace or finesse, but somehow
he eventually achieves what he wants, running it twice over to be sure
it wasn't a fluke he got it right, smiles and clicks his tongue before
moving onto something else.

'It's hot.' Complains the boy. And he's right; the air is dead still,
warm like an oven and stiflingly dry. My eyes follow the dwarf's to the
pack on the back of the Ice Man's mule and back to Klaus again. He
winks.

Klaus looks at his watch and says: 'He'll be out any minute, he's got
the whole town to do before twelve.'

'He'll kill us if he catches us.'

'You've got to risk something that matters, or you might as well be
dead.'

'If it's worth the going,' I add, quoting from long ago, 'it's worth
the ride.'

We both leap up and move to the mule, it remains as stationary as
always. Klaus can't reach high enough so sits back down with his back
against the door, gingerly and silently so as not to arouse suspicion
from within.

The leather satchel slung loosely across the back of the mule is sodden
through from the melting ice and has been dripping on the dusty ground
beneath. I reach both hands inside and immerse them in the freezing
slush, the gold makes me gasp but hurts so good I cannot resist a
moment of pleasure wallowing in it, my fingers going numb and my bones
complaining.

'Shit! He's coming.' Whispers the dwarf urgently.

I grab a large block of clear white ice, too large to get away with,
and hastily button back the satchel and return to my spot under the
veranda. Klaus stares at me with a desperate gaze and gestures wildly
to get rid of the evidence. I lift my hat and place the ice on my head,
hiding it perfectly just as the door jars open against the dwarf's
back.

Klaus moves out of the way and the Ice Man appears. He waves to the
landlord, shuts the door and glowers at the rest of us as he strides by
our prone bodies.

'See you later.' Says Klaus.

The Ice Man grunts and attacks his mule's hind with the flat of an ice
pick, the animal grudgingly moves on and the Ice Man follows. He
doesn't check the satchel. I can feel the melt water running down the
back of my neck and hope my hat doesn't show the wet. I shiver and both
Klaus and the boy struggle to suppress their giggles.

Once it is safe I hold the ice with both hands and slam it hard down
onto the edge of the wooden porch where it breaks into several pieces,
some of which land in the dust beneath. I give the two largest lumps to
Klaus and the boy. The boy juggles his between his hands, unable to
take the cold, while Klaus leans his head back and runs the melting ice
against his forehead. I offer some to Tom but he refuses. I slick back
my wet hair and pop a smaller, cleaner piece in my mouth.

The boy mimics the dwarf, running the ice over his forehead, but still
swaps hands back and forth.

'Someday' He says, 'I'm going to move north to where the weather is
nice and cool.'

'Oh yeah?'

'Yeah.'

'Klaus comes from that sort of part of the world.'

'Yes.' Says Klaus. 'Lovely and cold, too damn cold in fact.'

'Someday' Continues the boy, warming to his theme. 'I'm going to leave
this place and just keep travelling and never stop.'

'The world is round.' I tell him. 'If you keep going, sooner or later
you're going to be coming back.'

The boy stops swapping hands and stares at me. 'I don't understand.' He
says.

Klaus smiles, looking forward to my explanation. A drop lands on my
arm.

'That's funny.'

'I don't understand.'

'What's funny?'

'I thought I felt rain.'

'Don't be stupid, it was a drop of melted ice.'

'If you keep going away how can you be coming back?'

Klaus is wrong however, I can see clouds gathering in the distance, big
black thunderheads. I can see them but I just can't believe them, not
this time of year.

'Hide the ice.'

They are there though, clear as day, swirling and swelling in high
anvils of pregnant rain cloud.

'Frank!'

'What?'

'Hide the ice, the bar's opening.'

I sweep the remaining lumps of ice off the porch with my hand just as
the door opens, hope the landlord doesn't notice the wet patch.

'Alright you lot, but I want everyone out by quarter to twelve.'

'Sure.'

We stand up but I keep staring at those clouds, how did they come up so
sudden, and so exceptionally out of season.

'You coming Frank?'

'Where the hell did they come from?'

'Where did who come from?'

'Those clouds.'

'What clouds?'

I point and the other three follow my finger. 'Those clouds over there
you blind bastard.'

'I can't see any clouds' says the boy.

'Over there, coming this way.'

'There isn't a cloud in the sky.' Declares Klaus. 'You must be getting
the DTs.'

'I don't understand Mr Arbeit, how can you be coming back if you're
going away?'

'Come on lad, I'll explain inside.'

The two of them disappear inside the bar, I can't believe that they
can't see the clouds. Enormous black storm clouds spilling torrents
onto the land beneath. I can even feel the cold wind that drives them
and smell the impending rain carried on it.

'She was fifteen years old.' Says the stranger, standing behind me.
'And she'd never seen the ocean.'

'What?'

'That's the only reason why she ran away.'

'Huh.'

'The real reason people do things rarely justifies the
consequences.'

I can hear the rain now, hear it pounding on the roofs at the edge of
town. Little drops are being blown forward around us.

'The very last thing she said was "I love you mom."'

'I know.'

He places his hand on my shoulder. 'Don't worry Frank, a little rain
never hurt no one.' And then he walks into the bar.

And then the rain hits.