St. Ebrius

“Hi, Jordan.”

It was early in the morning, so he knew that it could be a hallucination. It was all in his head as he turned in the dumpster and opened his eyes. Jordan Radasso had been living there for the last four years after losing his apartment, being banned from the shelters and kicked out of an abandoned restaurant (kicked out? Those kids chased him out for fun). The dumpster was in a fairly quiet alley. Garbage trucks rarely passed there after the restaurants shut down and the government put in another marijuana shop. The people who still wanted to walk on the main street were tourists and they always had a lot of spare change. The only difficulty was the food bank that was five blocks away (always crowded on weekends and after 1 pm) and the weather. The cold had come in and he felt the pinpricks in his feet first; the layers kept most of his blood flowing. And today would be another trip out to see if he could beat the crowds, and keep the heat in his body moving.

But there was this voice that he could not place.

“Jordan…”

He sat up, noting that the metal lids were open (who did that?). And Jordan saw the man’s feet first before he knew that it was not a doll that had been tossed into his home.

“Hello, Mr. Radasso.”

So, he knew his full name (at least he did not get the middle one; Hegsbert was another person with a different life).

“Hell…oh.”

The shoes were nice. Brown leather and well cut from what Jordan guessed was a private cobbler (years selling them a long time ago left that recognition in his head). And he was in a light grey suit with a white dress shirt, tie (red silk? And a gold clip?) and black framed glasses. A city worker? Not a chance. Social worker? That was the best guess…but with that outfit…

“You got me.” Jordan stood up and leaned back on the metal hinges. Overcast but warmer, he could feel the wind pick up and shift the garbage around the graffitied path.

“You got me, Mr. R.!”

Jordan stepped up on a pallet he put in to make his exits easier. There was really no point in wasting his time with another do-gooder who just wanted him to turn his life around (always the same pitch: no one should live like this; you have so much to give, etc.) They never understood that he gave all he could and it was not enough. Life really was unfair, wasn’t it? No point in wasting time… He landed on the alley and looked down both directions before looking back at the well-dressed invader of his space.

“Look, I have heard all the speeches and tried to get up and out of this.” He pointed to the spray painted box he felt belonged to him. “And now I have to go eat before I drop. So, thanks…”

The man jumped up, did a spin in the air, and landed right in front of his path. Jordan had to stop, not just because he was blocked, but for his own sense of surprise.

“How’d…? You just…”

The man grinned, as if this had been a part of his plan all along.

“Mr. Radasso, I’m here to help you, as I said. As I tried to say. You are a very lucky man.”

Jordan had to find his shopping cart before someone touched it (another special hiding place), but for the first time, he was not that concerned. Why was that?

“You’re here to help me?”

“Yup!”

“Me…”

“No other Radassos out here. And I got your information.”

Yeah, social worker. Maybe he was new to the job. Jordan looked up the street to the park where he would have to pass through for the food. No kids or parents there yet.

“So, what are you going to do? Give me money?”

“Oh, no.” The man kept smiling.

“Find me a house?”

“Oh, not a chance.”

“Fix my life?”

The man stopped smiling and began grinning.

“You might say that. I am here to change everything in your life.”

“Right. And who are you, anyway?”

“Well, you won’t recognize the name, but…Ebrius.” He put his hand out.

Jordan was surprised. He had not shaken anyone’s hand – no one wanted to take it – in such a long time he thought it was a threat.

“Ebbryanus…”

“Eeebreeus…” He kept his hand out. Jordan decided to risk it and accepted the handshake.

“Ebrius.”

“Yes! You got it!” He was a long stronger than he looked. Jordan’s hand felt locked in to the handshake until Ebrius let go.

“And you know me…”

“I know all about you. Very unfortunate and unlucky life you led…”

“Unlucky…”

“Yes, well with the company layoffs, the problems with the family…”

Jordan was annoyed. Alcohol would be a nice comfort despite the hunger.

“I don’t wanna…”

“I understand. You already know your own story. You don’t want to relive it. But I want you to know that it is all going to change.”

A preacher, maybe…

“Well, great. That’s wonderful. Lord be praised…”

“Yes, indeed!” Ebrius made a sweeping gesture with his hands and stared up at the sky. A perfect moment to leave and Jordan took it.

“Well, goodbye.”

He was about four steps away when he heard it.

“Check your cart!”

He turned. The man was staring hard at him, grin in full display.

“My cart. Did you…?”

“You’ll thank me later.”

Jordan could only think about what he would lose without it (all that gear; all those tools). Beating up a well-dressed lunatic in an alley on a Monday morning was not on his bucket list.

“Bastard…”

“Bye-bye!”

He found the cart in the same spot, noting that the tarp had been moved slightly and that it was now facing the roadway. There was nothing missing, from a quick dig through it, but he did see something surprising.

An envelope.

“Told ya.”

Jordan almost jumped over the cart. The man had followed him without a sound.

“The hell…!”

“Sorry, but I wanted to start with something simple. You are going to be very surprised by what I can do for you.”

He really wanted that drink; it would have to come before any handouts at the shelter.

“If this is a prank…”

Ebrius sighed, wiping his glasses and staring at Jordan as if he was his worst student. “All the things holding you back right now are going to change. You are going to get another chance at having a real life. You just have to be patient. And keep that envelope.”

It hadn’t really occurred to Jordan to open it. He could feel it and tell that it was not stuffed with coins or bills. And a cheque would not help out. Only one simple letter would be inside. Great…

“Yeah, yeah.” He picked it up, and turned back to the man. “I’ll just…”

And the man was gone again.

Jordan, who just wanted to survive another cold day, opened the envelope and found the following note:

Dear Mr. Radasso,

ALCOHOL → WATER!

St. Ebrius

*

St. Ebrius, whomever he was, did not really disrupt his day. It was another prank, and he had seen worse. It would probably be better to have a late meal. He made it through the park (the cart would probably be safe; they did not like to have them around the food bank), and waited in line with a small group of faces. He did not recognize any of them today. Very strange. But he did get a few favourite items this time. There was salami today, along with some plain white bread and he sat down to make a sandwich. And he looked at the letter again.

ALCOHOL

Why was it crossed out? And why the arrow to WATER?

And why “St.” Ebrius?

This was all definitely a prank and he was actually amused that they would take the time to bother with him (was anyone else going through this?) He finished the homemade sandwiches quickly and went back to the street.

King George Ave. was quiet after the workers entered their offices and left the rest of humanity alone. The best place to pick up a beer, or three, would be the local variety store (the government-run liquor shops always made him feel like a trespasser). The South Asian couple who ran the place – he guessed Pakistan – knew what their clientele were all about and did not care where the money came from. And there was no credit offered. Fine by him, thought Jordan. There was a little money left over from last week.

“Just the drinks for today, sir?”

“Just that.”

He could afford a four-pack and still get some change back. It was becoming sunnier and he could sit in the park and open up a few, enjoying the brief sun before the cold grew. On a picnic table that would have been taken in the summertime by families and their barbecues and picnics, he dropped the PBRs and opened the first one of the day. And it hit the back of his throat like a bad dream.

It was water.

If anyone had noticed him, they would have seen a homeless man falling back from a picnic table and staring at his beer. But at that moment, the only observer was a squirrel that decided that Jordan would not be the best source for a snack. But he was amused by the show.

Jordan stood there for a moment.

He could feel the letter in his right coat pocket.

“No, no, no…”

The can stood next to the others like an offering. It did not seem any different from the others.

He took another sip.

“Damnit…”

Should he return them to the store? Right, that would work. A homeless man returning beers because they put water in the cans to fool him… Jordan’s arrest would be amusing to quite a few of the locals.

And he had to be sure.

He opened and sampled all three cans.

He tasted and spat out water.

“I told you.”

Jordan was feeling less and less surprised by Ebrius’ appearances now. The man was up in the trees nearby. A well-aimed beer can could have taken him out, but he had some questions that needed answers.

“You really… You just…” He was looking carefully at the four cans of water in front of him. “You really set that up?”

“Oh, yes! The first thing to do is to get at your addiction and then handle the rest later.”

The temptation was too strong, but the man was too fast. The beer can flew past him as he made the same arc in the air as before and landed on the table.

“Hey, that’s not nice!”

“Neither’s takin’ away a man’s medicine!”

“You really don’t need it. It’s just a crutch to get you through the day.”

“Some of us need crutches!”

“Not you. As I said, you are very lucky.”

Would it be the right thing to sweep his legs and then choke him in a public park? The answer was obvious.

“Seriously, just leave me alone.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Jordan swept the cans off the table, noting the splashes of water that would soon freeze on the grass and concrete holding the table in place.

“Leave me alone!”

“Wish I could, Mr. Radasso. But this has already been started. You got the first note.”

And Jordan remembered it now. His anger almost blocked it out of his mind.

He grabbed it and showed it to the man.

“You mean this stupid thing? The thing you used to hypnotize me or whatever the hell it is? Watch this.”

The shredding was very satisfying, about as joyful as when he tore up the lease to his last apartment and ran before the landlord could do anything about the missing tenant. The flakes fell like the snow the city would expect soon.

Jordan smiled.

So did the man.

Jordan stopped smiling.

“Check your pocket.”

It was the same pocket, too. Jordan would always find that detail interesting...and annoying. Another white envelope; another single piece of paper. And another message that he would have to decipher:

Dear Mr. Radasso,

Sorry about all of this, but it needs to be done:

DIRTY → CLEAN!

St. Ebrius

*

*

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