Charlie tried to call a cab but his once familiar mobile felt alien to the touch, as if his fingers had lost all memory. He gave up trying, threw the device on the bed and dressed in what seemed like slow motion. Shooting pains rushed up and down his spine as he gingerly lifted his arms and put a sweater on over his chest and itching back brace.
When he finally rolled out through the whooshing exit, he felt the oppression of the hospital lift around him as the darkness came to greet him. The distant motorway sounded hollow and mechanical but it only drove his senses further as the memory of the creatures made him instinctively reach out to a dusty iron bollard, scratched and picked at by a sea of bored patients. Ignoring its tacky surface, dotted with pink and white chewing gum, the posts cool solidness seemed to ground him and keep him anchored to the earth. While sitting in his chair, his left hand resting on the post, head bowed as if worshipping at some ancient temple, the smell of smoke made him aware that he was not alone and he swivelled his chair to face the figure that stood beside the hospital's sliding doors.
"All right," Charlie said, feeling foolish at his own surprise but also unsettled by something else which he couldn't put his finger on; something about the man's presence that struck him as strange.
"All-right," the wild haired man echoed. Charlie took in the slim (some would say thin) figure and he tried to look past the darkness that shrouded him.
Charlie was going to leave it at that but then he got an inexplicable urge for a cigarette and a chat with another human. "Do you have a spare one?" he said, not expecting much of a reply.
"Sure," said the man as he shifted his weight from the wall he lent on, "as long as you don't mind makin' it yourself?" He rummaged around in his pocket and fished out a heavily worn tobacco tin. "Here. You'll be needin' these, too", he said as he palmed some rolling papers and a lighter into Charlie 's free hand.
Charlie took the offered items and tried to put them to some use. It had been a long time and it showed. The packet felt greasy and he felt slightly repulsed by it. He doubted the contents to be recycled cigarette butts found on the streets but didn't close his mind to the possibility. He'd seen many a down-and-out fish a stump or two from the street and lit it.
He was in the throes of making what looked like a badly packaged spliff, when the guy said, "Here, I'll make it package. I'll have no tobacco left if I let you make it."
"Thanks," Charlie said, feeling slightly humbled, "it's been a long time."
"It shows," the man said with a slight smile as he pocketed the lighter and proceeded to make Charlie a roll-up.
Charlie looked on and marvelled at the ease of the guy's cigarette-making abilities. It was like watching a magician flip a coin over his knuckles. Using just one hand, his fingers went about their work with a precision and gentleness that seemed surreal only pausing before licking the gummed area of the paper, as if giving him the option to do this for himself. Charlie shrugged and the stranger sealed the deal, darting his tongue out and licking the gummed paper with an equally practised flourish that was something in itself.
"Here," he said and passed the freshly made cigarette and lighter towards him. Charlie took them both and managed to light it without too much embarrassment. He suppressed a cough and nearly choked as a result. It reminded him of Drum, a pipe tobacco his grandfather used to smoke. It tasted pretty harsh compared to his usual brand of cigarette.
"You look like a man with things to do and people to see."
Charlie found himself mildly intrigued by this statement. "No, not really, just glad to get out of there," he said, looking at the bland concrete of the hospital. Hospitals always made him shudder. Their revolving doors ushered people into the world and into the grave, with equal measure and candour.
"Ah, that's it, I thought I recognized you. You weren't in a wheelchair though." Charlie was used to this, working on the doors. God, had he done it that long that this old guy should know him? "Yes, yes, you're the one that gave my buddy some money - a whole twenty by all accounts."
Charlie wasn't expecting this turn of events but the man said seemed to stir up memories. Realizing the lighter still lay in his hand he held it up high, in an attempt to illuminate the man's face. Graciously the man aided in the process by bending slightly towards the flame. A less than perfect smile, framed on either side by a bushy beard and topped off by a wild corona of hair, greeted Charlie 's inquiring flame. The overall appearance had a striking resemblance to a white skinned Aboriginal bush man. Large, dark, eyes reflected the lighter's flickering flame; seemingly unfazed by the scrutiny they were being put under. Where have I seen this face before, Charlie thought to himself? The face seemed familiar to him but he couldn't be sure. Strange that he would forget such a face though. Feeling the lighter became hot, he let it go out. With the images of the man's face still etched in his mind, Charlie waited until it cooled before handing it back.
"Did ya have an accident after we saw ya with ya lady friend? Keepin' ya in for tests, are they? Funny how my friend, Spud, should end up in the same hospital on the same night."
Charlie took a drag on the cigarette. He was starting to wonder if the guy was all there but thought he'd go along with him. "I hope you spent that note wisely?" Charlie said, in mock severity.
"Ha, we bought food with it, if that's what you mean? Didn't get a chance to eat it, mind, not after what happened."
"Let me guess, you told someone your luck was in and they lightened your pockets?"
"No, no. After you gave Spud that twenty, we went straight off to spend it. Thought we'd won the lottery we did."
"Spud?" said Charlie , feeling the name familiar.
"Spud's what we call him, on account that he's been known to leave a couple outside of shop doorways. Big smelly ones, if ya get my drift. They look like spuds so we call him Spud. We did it to annoy him at first but then he saw the funny side to it and I guess it stuck —much like his turds. His real name's Paul but he deserves something better, don't you think?"
Charlie laughed. "I've heard everything now," he said, "and just when I thought I'd heard and seen it all." He remembered meeting this man, though he couldn't be sure when it had been. His time in hospital had left his memory in a strange limbo. He remembered a long speech from the guy about his sick child and how he needed money for a train or bus. He'd been a bit drunk, so he wasn't sure. "But you're the one I gave the money to, right, not this Spud character?"
"We look alike. I get it all the time. Some say we look like brothers, twins even. Must be the beard and the fact that we go everywhere together like each other's shadows. No, it was Spud you gave the money to, not me."
Charlie was starting to get the feeling that this guy wasn't firing on all cylinders. "So how do you know me then; were you there?"
"Damn straight I was there. Thought you were going to floor him rather than speak to him. He has that effect on people sometimes; I wouldn't have blamed you if you had decked him."
"Strange, I only remember dealing with one person and it was months ago. When do you remember us meeting up then?" He let this hang, almost fearing the answer to his question.
"Last night, not sure exactly; been busy ever since. You're used to dealing with people aren't you...?"
Taken off guard, Charlie managed to disguise his surprise with a reply. "Charlie . The name's Charlie ."
"Charlie," the man repeated." Are you a boxer then Charlie ? Hang on, let me guess."
He felt the man eye-him-up-and-down as he sat in his wheelchair. "I don't smell police. If you were a copper, I'd know. I know most of them around here and they mostly don't like people who don't contribute to their salaries. Let me think, now. You're a good talker and non threatening'. You have an economy of movement which suggests you can handle yourself but only when the need arises."
Charlie couldn't help but smile at how this guy was sussing him out. He wasn't surprised by the next few words.
"Are you a bouncer, Charlie ?"
Charlie had to give the guy credit and moved back in his chair in mock, friendly, amazement. "Very good....?"
"Ha, I knew it. I've met them all in my time. Judges, barristers, you name it. They wear their careers like a pair of old riding boots." Charlie saw a gleam in Davo's eyes before he came to answer him. "Sorry Charlie , Davo's the name."
"Well Davo," Charlie said, looking at his watch, "you should have been a policeman yourself."
"Na, I think ya have to be a bit of a nosy-parker for that game. I just like watching people, figuring them out."
"So what's your story, Davo?" Charlie nodded at the hospital doors.
"Ah, now ya just being nosy. But that's okay," Charlie sensed a smile, "I'm waitin' for my friend, Spud. He got himself into a bit of bother."
"Oh?" Charlie was intrigued by the tremor that had developed in Davo's words. There was an eerie, detached quality to his voice as if he was remembering a bad dream.
"It happened so quickly, you see. Shit, you think I'm crazy any-ways, so what the hell. What I have to say will only convince you of that fact."
Charlie took a deep drag on his cigarette, mainly to keep it alive and he saw the burning end reflected twice in Davo's watery black eyes. It sent a shiver down his spine. His instincts recoiled as he felt himself fall into their depths; the hairs on the back of his neck prickled.
An ambulance rushed up next to them, all the commotion and the light that it brought clearly illuminated Davo's fear riddled face.
As Davo recounted his story, Charlie was not too convinced that he was mad.
Either that or they were both mad.