The Golden Eagle - Gerry Miller
November 2013
The tramp had not asked for a lot out of life, in fact as far as he could remember he had made a career out of asking nothing and in return he got what he wanted, which was nothing. His life was focused on the key issues: food, warmth and shelter; he felt that everything after that was manufactured and unnecessary. The only remnant that he appeared to have from the past was the tiny gold eagle tied on a piece of string around his wrist. The past was gone a life he could not recall. The street people called him Goldie. The only thing on his mind at the moment was that he craved a lovely hot soak in a bath; the lice were starting to be more of a nuisance than he could usually tolerate.
It was time to renew his newspaper insulation and perhaps have a dip in the tidal pool down on the seafront. The rug he had slept rolled up in was teeming with lice and he put it in the skip behind which he had slept. Goldie as he had now come to think of himself strolled along the seafront musing on what a glorious day it was. He sat on the small jetty and as he watched the little boats bobbing about he felt lucky. Luck he had decided was being free from pain and emotion and the incessant demands of the people who must have surrounded him in his pre-tramp life. Sometimes it bothered him that he could not remember the past but maybe that was a blessing in disguise. He could have been a fraud, charlatan or even worse he could have been a banker. As a tramp he did not beg, remaining true to his principles and trying always to return any good fortune that came his way. Perhaps not always to the donor but as soon as the next opportunity presented itself. The tramp believed in the philosophy that what goes around comes around, even though he never saw some people get their just deserts he held on to the belief that somehow they did.
Mind you Goldie thought that he might be living in cuckoo land though watching the commuters hurrying backwards and forwards to work; his world definitely had a lot of appeal. Other wanderers had been kind to him and he had learned very quickly to steer clear of those who were the victims of 'Care in the Community'. Medications if received were traded for far more harmful substances and food was such a low priority for those poor people. The sadness upon him at the moment was finding the dead body on the beach; he had phoned the police making sure he was far out of sight when they turned up. The body was of a young man probably just under forty, naked apart from his boxer shorts.
Whilst he did not remember his own name or where he was from and the flashbacks he suffered just left him confused. Who he was always eluded him; the flashbacks never left him really sad, just melancholic. He often wondered if there was anyone out there who loved him or indeed who missed him. Somehow his forgetfulness left him devoid of any deep feelings. Last night curled up behind the dustbin sheds sheltered from the thunderstorm he listened to the rats scurrying around; he had also heard the jeers and cries of the yobs as they roamed the seafront. Yet waking up stiff and sore from under the old rug behind the bins he felt optimistic about today.
Goldie sat by the tidal pool in the early morning sunshine and there his eye caught a glistening in the sand. Reaching and smoothing the sand away he found a fifty pound note tucked into a watch strap.. Looking out to sea, the tide was now on the turn and the water was ebbing slowly in towards the beach. Between himself and the water he could see an indeterminate mound. The sun was warm on his face and taking off his rather worn and grubby overcoat he folded it over the money and the watch. Goldie took off his shoes and socks and standing up walked out towards the sea. Glancing down he grimaced with disgust at the dirt of his feet and toenails, skin should never be that grey or black.
When he reached the bundle Goldie discovered it was a neatly folded pile of clothes with a pair of shoes resting on the top, a set of car keys in one shoe and socks neatly tucked in the other. No one was out swimming and as he looked through the clothes he thought they must belong to the body he had found further down the estuary. What of earth had prompted this young man to fold his clothes so neatly whilst he was so hell bent on self destruction? Had habits learned so early on in life lasted to his dying day, maybe the young man had heard his mother's voice remonstrating with him and telling him 'Fold your clothes nicely dear.'
Goldie was sad at how this person could have come to this terrible tragedy so early in life. Yet for himself here he was with a huge bounty, new clothes and especially a good pair of shoes. Many a time he had replaced the inner soles of his present pair with newspaper, the rainy days soon made a mockery of these repairs and to come across cardboard was a rare find indeed. Recycling certainly did not help the homeless. With the clothes tucked under his arm Goldie revelled in the sunshine as he walked back to the pool. In every practical way he was now a man of substance. Checking there was no one around the smelly tramp decided to strip off and he bathed naked in the tidal pool. The sun warmed him as he floated gently on his back and he thanked God for the miracles of life. Washing his hair as best he could and drying himself with his newspaper insulation and his old clothes; dressed in his new belongings he looked almost smart.
Definitely not smelly now, Goldie decided to leave his old underpants behind, going commando with his new clothes seemed right. Better than transferring any fleas and lice to his new outfit, he smiled as he shook his head; the longer he could stay free of all crawlies the better. The socks and shoes fitted a dream and he mused that here was the advantage in having lost so much weight; these clothes would never have fitted him previously. Any fat he had once had long disappeared, scrawny and gaunt was an apt description now. Checking his eagle charm hung on his wrist and folding all his old clothes neatly he left them by the side of the tidal pool and walked away.
Feeling scratch free and lice free a shave and a short back and sides would complete his transformation. Goldie strolled along the seafront clicking the key at every car he passed, waiting for a car's locking system to make a noise. Hopefully this would be before the batteries in the lock ran out, any technical knowledge he had was long gone and he had forgotten how they worked. Thoughts were jumbled in his head, he believed that he could drive and surely he must have learned however many years ago it was. Then all of sudden lights flashed and a door lock clicked and there it was, a neat grey mini. His eyes rose up to heaven and he thanked the Lord for the miracles of today asking him to take the soul of the dead man and grant him rest.
Goldie checked the car it was clean and it smelled of the pine air freshener swinging from the mirror. He opened the boot and found a black overcoat with an overnight bag. Goldie sat in the car and looked at all of the controls, recollections stirred in his mind and the foreboding that these recollections would be followed by a migraine left him in a near panic. He would need to be slow and careful whilst things came back to him. Noticing after his sea bath and now confined in the car he no longer smelled badly and smiling to himself he turned on the ignition checking the petrol gauge he muttered. "Nearly a full tank" Why on earth had his benefactor filled his car with petrol only to park here and then drown himself?
Goldie indicated and being very careful pulled out and drove off round to the Turkish barbers he had passed many times. As the barber shaved, cut and trimmed his hair and beard the years fell from the tramp, he loved the feeling of the hot towels on his face, but what a shock as the years fell away. On the streets there were no birthdays or anniversaries and he had assumed that he must be close to sixty, the greying matted hair, the unkempt beard, the down trodden shuffle. His reflection in shop windows threw back an image of an aging downcast sixty plus male. The hot towels, shave, shampoo and haircut left him feeling exhilarated, and his eyes appeared to brighten, Goldie realised with a shock that he could well be under fifty!
After paying the barber and realising that it would probably take the police sometime to identify the body; Goldie thought he would have a day or two to enjoy his bounty. Mentally he again thanked the poor man returned to the car and started his drive, uncertain of where he was heading. Turning on the radio sitting back contented he set off on his adventure. His stomach started to growl but he was used to ignoring hunger, and continued on very carefully concentrating on his driving. Drivers tooted him; maybe as a novice driver he was going too slowly, but once on the A13 his confidence grew. The car or indeed his subconscious seemed to have a journey of its own in mind, and turning onto the Colchester road he soon found himself driving into Sudbury.
Driving into the Mill Hotel car park, this now relaxed driver realised that he had been to this town before but when and why eluded him. His head had started to ache and it appeared as though the black screen that was holding back his memories was starting to fracture, he could not understand why on earth he was here? The pains in his head were increasing. Goldie felt incredibly nauseous, flashing lights affected his vision and he knew he must lie down; he was close to passing out. He looked at the young man's watch now on his wrist, a Rolex, that much he knew, probably a copy, but that he did not know. Managing to get out of the car he opened the boot; putting on the overcoat he found a wallet in the pocket. That poor young man had definitely not wanted his identity found quickly or even at all. The wallet was that of a Thomas Grant, the driving licence portrayed a cheerful young man and not remembering his own name Thomas would be as good as any.
Automatically checking his golden eagle he collected the bag from the boot and walked into the hotel. Checking in was straightforward and he booked himself into the pleasant restaurant for lunch. The receptionist pointed out where the pharmacy was and Thomas shortly returned with some pain killers. His room was ready and Thomas startled to realise that it was still only 12 midday. The now smart looking business man was in high anticipation, heaven on earth was about to arrive, and going up to his room he ran a hot bath with loads of bubbles. Climbing in was ecstatic though a glance at his toenails again made him squirm? As he soaked flashbacks came and went, the curtain to his memories was slowly being rent apart, why, Thomas did not understand. He felt at peace with the name Thomas; this had caused no conflict, but whatever had happened to cause his memory to shut down; perhaps he was going to have to deal with it all now?
The bath water was renewed twice and eventually Thomas got out. Finding some boxers in the weekend bag he dressed and giving a final glance in the mirror he realised that the other wanderers would not recognise him now. Goldie the tramp and wanderer had disappeared and with it had at last gone his headache. He tied his gold eagle charm back on his wrist. Thomas now a very smart business man walked down to the restaurant and ordered his lunch; his subconscious had brought him here for some purpose so after lunch he decided he would walk the streets of Sudbury.
He felt ok as Thomas Grant, this name, whilst having a ring of familiarity, had thankfully not increased the flashbacks. Feeling thoroughly spoilt and radiantly clean the visit to Sudbury had been a subconscious choice but one he now was starting to have misgivings about. He seemed to know the town, and he felt slightly uncomfortable setting off to explore the High Street. Looking as any other business man he browsed in the shops as though looking for a birthday present and meandered slowly up the high street. A green and white striped canopy blowing in the breeze caught his eye. The shop just up on the other side of the road seemed so familiar yet where on earth from? To actually see it so close startled Thomas, it was not just the canopy he recognised but also the name of the shop 'Lily's Toys and Books'.
The nausea struck again and turning into a small tea rooms Thomas took a seat in the window and ordered a pot of tea. He sat staring at the shop with the bright green canopy. It was a beautiful toy shop with a hand crafted rocking horse as the window centre piece. The window was bright and full of toys beautifully displayed. He sat and drank his tea admiring the lovely bone china and started to recover some of his composure. Thomas glanced at his watch and realised the kids were all coming out of school, the High Street was becoming busy as mothers and children went in and out of the little shop.
Thomas asked for a refill of his tea pot and as time passed students started to appear on the pavements. All the arty weird types were returning from College, ear studs, nose studs and mouth studs, studs on their tongues and wonderfully weird clashing clothes. He smiled to himself. 'Had he ever been like this?' his memory again failed him. A group of four came in and sat at the table behind him, the chattering was all about clothes, boys and their latest drawing projects. All were vying with each other trying out different ideas, but at last one said that she had clearly decided what she was going to do. After much teasing and a lot of reluctance on the girl's part she told them 'I am doing a drawing of a headstone in the cemetery entitled 'The Angel of Grief'.' Thomas startled dropping his cup as a cold shiver ran through his very bones; this meant something to him but why? The waitress came over and clearing up, replaced the tea, Thomas reassuring her he was fine. The colour had drained from his face and he knew now that this was part of his past. Thomas had no choice other than a visit to this gravestone.
Feeling incredibly sick and weak Thomas slowly wended his way to the church yard, barely giving the shop he had previously been so fixated with a second glance. His walk was hardly a shuffle and he knew people were wary and steering out of his way. Onward he went dragged almost as if by a terrible force, the church gate squeaked as he went in and following the girl's description he walked behind the church. Then he saw it standing large and proud such a depiction of sorrow, the angel's head bowed low in grief over the headstone her wings partly showing behind her. The curtain in his mind was finally rent to pieces; and a howl of anguish arose from him as he came close enough to read the inscription. 'Lily Ann beloved daughter of Jane and Peter, sister of brothers Thomas and Grant, died aged three.' He fell to his knees sobbing uncontrollably, what the headstone did not say was Lily Ann had been killed by her father. Peter had been unable to forgive himself, he had seen Lily playing in the garden as he went to the car, but he had not seen her look up and then follow him around behind the car as he then reversed out of the garage. And so he had ended her life.
Peter remembered it all now; the pain, torment and desperation came flooding back. He remembered his beautiful daughter's funeral; he had been unable to cope with killing her, he had been inconsolable though so many told him it was such a very tragic accident. At last one evening he had put on his overcoat and disappeared out into the night only to return now. The eagle charm from Lily's bracelet had been on the hall table and as he left he must have picked them up subconsciously. Peter had been unable, unwilling or mentally unfit to cope with the loss of his daughter somehow he had managed to block all of his memories. Had he deliberately forced his tramp life onto himself as punishment, so many questions he needed now to answer? The sun was shining and he lay back against the stone as the tears of grief flowed from him, Lily's images flew round and round in his head. She had been such a whirling dervish with her blond hair flying, loving her dad and following him everywhere, but what of his two sons and Jane his wife. Peter knew that he had really left them with another unbelievable burden to bear. He had doubled their losses.
The church gate squeaked in the distance and Peter wiping his face could hear no voices. He rested back again and then the dog was upon him, followed by two small boys. 'Mummy Mummy,' they screamed, 'you told us he would come back. Is this man Daddy?'
Jane readied herself to say 'No this man was not daddy;' the boys seemed to think any man seen in the cemetery was going to be their dad. She stared ahead and met Peter's eyes, she fell to the ground beside him. Hugging and sobbing, 'Yes Kids' she said 'This is your Dad and at last he has found his way back to us.'
Peter felt cocooned by love and thanked the young man for the gift of his life back.
