THE CROSS (Condensed from the original)
by
John Mark Govier Tucker
The street swayed in front of him. His head hung low. The
tattered ends of his soiled purple scarf which hung loosely around his neck
were whipped back and forth by the wind. His face was almost
expressionless except for a violent contortion occurring every once in a
while when he coughed up a slimy mucus containing traces of blood.
From the shadow of an alley, he watched the people – Christmas shoppers,
businessmen, teenagers and children. He smiled faintly at them,
forgetting the cold for a moment. He liked to watch people, especially
children, but he was glad that they weren’t able to see him.
Timidly, he ventured out of the shadows and walked south, forever conscious
of the eyes that followed him. They saw only his doubled form and shabby
dress and judged accordingly. They looked with pity, even fear;
but always there was a trace of superiority and revulsion. His
legs were tired and he joined the crowd moving into the subway station.
Soon there was the familiar sick feeling in his stomach as he became aware
that he was the object of everyone’s attention, sitting alone on his seat
while others stood. A heavy middle-aged woman, her face partly
hidden by a veil, sat across from him. Her eyes shifted uneasily
and every few seconds she snatched a furtive glance at the derelict in front
of her. Two businessmen were also caught by a morbid curiosity
and two little girls pointed and giggled at him from a corner.
Yet he wasn’t the only person who was feeling uncomfortable, for his very
presence disturbed all who saw him.
The subway coach stopped at Queen and again he moved with the crowd onto
the street. Outside the icy winds struck him and he moved towards
the tall buildings for shelter. In front of him was a large window
decorated for the Christmas season. There were cute little mice
playing musical instruments, elves making shoes, and kittens rolling yarn.
The aching cold and fear left him as he was overwhelmed by the beauty and
peace of the scene. After a long while, he found himself alone
at the window. The cold was bitter and he moved on to keep warm.
Near King Street, he passed a small second-hand shop. Something
in the window caught his eye. It was a rough wooden cross that
looked as if it had been hand-carved. Perhaps something from
his past sprang to life as he stared at it. Tears filled his
eyes as he felt a deep longing. He was drawn intensely to that
barren cross and he pressed his face against the glass that separated it
from him. Suddenly he heard footsteps behind him and a commanding
voice said, “Move along, buddy!” He raised his head and looked
into the cold grey eyes of the police officer. He moved away
quickly and soon he was standing in front of the house where he boarded.
When he entered, he could see that his landlady was still up, ironing in
the kitchen. “You’re late, Peter,” she said. “Yes,” he replied
quietly. “I took a ride on the subway,” he added suddenly.
The landlady took no more notice of him as he moved past her and up the stairs
to his room where he fell asleep exhausted.
From the small window high on the wall came the brightness of dawn.
The yellow rays played over Peter’s face. He woke with a start,
coughing violently, spraying blood over the bare floor. His eyes were
drawn and his face was pale. He felt that he hadn’t the strength
to get out of bed. He felt weak and terribly alone.
There was a knock at the door and the landlady passed his breakfast through
to him. Peter lay back again, watching the branches outside the
window swaying in the wind. His stomach cried out for food and
yet the sickly odour coming from the tray on the floor repulsed him.
There had been times when he would lie in a state of inertia for days.
By evening, the depression, the pains in his body and the confinement of
the room were unbearable and he put on his coat and left, heading north.
It was the day before Christmas. Christmas Eve in fact, he thought.
The weariness in his body seemed to evaporate as he became aware of the spirit
of life in the people around him. The Salvation Army band on
the corner was playing carols. “Peace on earth; Good will toward
men.”
He walked slowly toward St. Michael’s Cathedral. Often he came
here to be alone, loving the quiet, peaceful atmosphere and above all, the
awe-inspiring interior. The priests were always kind to him and
in fact had given him the clothes he wore. Peter sat near the
front of the church and watched them preparing the altar for the mass that
evening. They turned and looked at Peter who smiled back at them.
Soon he got up quietly and went out.
Outside it was snowing lightly and the wind had lessened. He
felt very much alone. He walked east without really knowing where
he was heading, to find himself standing in front of the second-hand shop.
The cross still lay there. The fear, panic and loneliness that
had been building up inside Peter over the past few weeks seemed to gradually
dissipate before this symbol of warmth and peace. It was to him
the epitome of all his desires. The attraction more than he could
bear, he thrust his hand through the glass and grabbed the cross.
Instantly a series of rings sounded, triggered by the broken glass.
From down the street a whistle blew and voices filled the still night.
His eyes wide with terror, Peter ran, still holding the cross.
A shot rang out. Someone grabbed his coat but let go when he
saw the terror on Peter’s face. Peter kept on running.
Exhausted, he collapsed in an alley.
There he lay, an insignificant heap of rags, with his fingers clutching the
wooden cross to his heart. In the distance, the bells of St.
Michael’s Cathedral announced the arrival of Christmas Day. His
body shivered and convulsed with sobs. He tasted the sweaty blood
that was running down the side of his head from the gash he’d received when
he fell. The dark alley hid his body and the hollow howl of the
wind drowned his gasping sobs. The wind gradually heaped around
Peter a grave of soft white flakes and he passed away into the lonely night.
N.B. Written when Mark was about eighteen years old.