Chapter 40

Chapter 40

I wait until I get back to New York to drink; the last thing that I want is to content them with reassuring rumors. At least New York is packed with so many like me after hours—I don’t stand out here in such a miserable crowd. I don’t remember walking home, but by some miracle, I wake up in my bed. By the shadows under her eyes, I deduct the miracle is no less than to Muddy’s efforts. She serves me eggs and beaten biscuits in silence, but I can tell questions are on the tip of her tongue.

“The engagement is off.”

She slinks into her chair. “I feared it was such.”

Strange. “Don’t you want to know why?”

“Why?”

But I read through her attempt. I push back from the table. “Do you think I have a problem as well?”

“It isn’t for me to say, but maybe the doctor—”

“The whole world is against me.” I get up and reach for my hat and bag. I don’t even bother unpacking.

“Where are you going? It’s freezing outside.”

“If everyone thinks I’m a drunk then I might as well be one.” I open the door, but she catches it before I can slam it.

“All I want is for you to check with the doctor, is all,” she calls after me, as I try to pull my hat down as far as I can over my stinging ears.

I soon stare into the bottom of my bottle, after the last skinny drops run out, wishing I can crawl inside, be put up on a shelf, and forgotten about. I sit at an empty table, in an empty bar in and empty city, festering in an empty world. There is more beyond the veil than remains here.

The months pass without my permission. All of my energy goes to dragging myself to work every day, doing my duties as the headaches decrease and the tremors increase, until I warm my usual chair in my usual corner of the bar. Muddy quits discussing the problem and I only return for breakfast in the morning, although the color fades fast from the hair around her face and the faint lines I’m used to sink further. It’s hard to tell if my drinking causes my illness or if it cures it. The moment I’m sober, shakes, fevers, chills, and stomach ailments return until I assuage them again with the bottle.

“Sartain sent you a letter a week ago, and I decided it was my obligation to such a friend to open it for you.”

“Oh, yes. The letter.”

“He insists on you visiting him in Philadelphia with your latest work.”

Work? I pull my journal out from under my coat, astonished that I do in fact have a few pieces I can sell to him.

“I think a trip to Sartain would be good for you. Do you feel up to it?”

I’d rather rush to Elmira in Richmond, but I can’t in this condition. What would she think of this? I pick up Virginia’s old looking glass off the table and see the gaunt, faded shadow of me stare back. She studies me closely and jumps when I say, “Of course, I’m up to it. Why on earth should I not be?”

She knows better to question further and sweeps up the plates for washing.

Feeling guilty that I scared her, I soften my tone. Even though my head throbs fiercely, I forget she can’t hear it. “I’m sorry, Muddy. I detest upsetting you and I hate to be your burden. I wish I could be a better son for you.”

She turns with the look I’m sure my mother would have given to me, had she still been here. “You are all I could have ever hoped for.”

Compliments are only valuable if you believe them.

“I will go to Philadelphia at the close of the day and I will return much improved.”

She seems to accept it and happily packs my valise for me to take to work.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

It’s a hot early June day, made all the hotter by trying to keep away from my flask. The train is suffocating with the smells of sweaty men in woolen suits and even with all the windows open, there isn’t sufficient air.

“Blasted heat,” I say out loud, drawing a few quizzical looks.

I sweep the hat off my head, wishing I could remove the summer coat and pull out the forbidden refreshment. I will only have a few sips.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

I reopen my eyes to a stone-walled room—cell, more likely by the bars on the windows. What happened between the drink and now? My head aches, not the usual throbbing ache, but with an added heavy bruising pain on the exterior. My sight blurs once again with a sensation I’m fainting. A darkness covers my sight.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

I call through the bars. “Help! Please help me.” It’s minutes before someone returns in uniform, a policeman. He grasps his baton in one hand and questions me without words, giving me a cold look as if everything in this place annoys him.

“Please, tell me where I am.”

“In jail.”

“Where? Which state am I in?”

I obviously humor him. “Pennsylvania, for Pete’s sake.”

“Philadelphia?”

Now he goes back to bothered. “Yes, and keep quiet until someone comes for you.”

He walks away, but I beg. “Who? Who will come for me? What have I done?”

The door slams and I hear coughs and chatter down the jail cells. My clothes are dirty, as though I’d stood in the rain and they dried. I’m horribly thirsty. I look around for water and find a small pitcher beside a commode, filled with watery stool. Mine? I don’t even remember going. The smell makes my already queasy stomach turn and I get sick in the corner. Men yell out profanities down the hall in response to my retching. Did I hurt someone? What could I have done to end up in this hell?

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

A prim-looking man wakes me with a quiet clearing of the throat. “Edgar Poe?” he reads from a file. “The poet?”

I must have fallen asleep again. I clamber to my feet. “Yes, that’s me.”

His nose turns up at the smell as I near. He takes a handkerchief from his breast pocket to cover his nose. “I’ve been sent from the mayor.”

“Please tell me why I’m here. I have no memory.”

“Public drunkenness.”

“That is impossible. I only had a drop.” He gives me the look that so many seem to give me lately.

“Police found you unconscious, bleeding, and reeking of alcohol, eight days ago.”

Eight days ago?

Then he softens considerably. “Although, due to your…fame, the mayor wants to see this matter quickly and quietly taken care of, without the usual fine.”

I release a stale breath. “Thank you. Will you also locate my valise for me?”

He nods, ignoring my handshake through the bars, and goes off to track down its whereabouts. The tremors begin and set me to quaking. My thoughts go in out of dream and waking, I lose track of which is reality. Memories of the horrible visions flash through my fevered brain. I curled up in a ball on the filthy mattress, trying not to lose my mind but feel it slipping away between my fingers.

 

I’m rushing off a train. I keep checking over my shoulder to see who has gotten off behind me. There—two men—the same two men I ran from before, stand on tiptoes to see me above the crowd. I forget about seeing to my valise and try to get ahead of the masses. I dart into a side street and I tuck myself behind a high pile of refuse—the smell so potent I can taste it. I just have to still my breathing. Four feet scuffle down the alley and skid to a stop right before the garbage.

“He has to have turned here,” one of them says breathlessly.

Slow footfalls come around the trash and I ready to run when he spies me. He grabs the back of my coat and nearly rips the seams, pulling me up to his face—his familiar fish-face framed in long soaplocks. I jab out with my right, knocking him above his ear. He bares his teeth and lifts me up by my lapels.

He yells, “Stay away from Elmira!” Then punches me with great force on the right temple and sends me flying back against the building.

 

I open my eyes back up to the same cell. The visions keep changing but I always came back to the same place. Was I dead? Is this hell?