Rising to darkness Read online

  If possible, London was even worse than Amsterdam. After the terrible fire of 1666 that nearly leveled it to the ground, the city was rebuilt hastily without any architectural or urban criterion in order to meet the increasingly massive influx of people from the countryside who were attracted by the chance to work in factories popping up everywhere. The buildings sprang up like mushrooms, built rapidly with inferior materials, and stacked one on top of the other without following any standard regulations. Sometimes, some buildings collapsed like house of cards due to heavy signs that were put on them, burying whole families inside. The rooms were minuscule due to the endless subdivisions and the huge number of people living inside.

  Everybody used coal to warm the dwellings, so soot was dispersed in the air from the thousands of chimneys, blackening everything. When it rained, and it often did, even the rain was black.

  The streets ... God...

  Dark, narrow, winding, smelly. As in Amsterdam, people used to empty chamber pots and bins from their windows; dead animals were lying everywhere, to rot and poison the air with their stench. Drains existed, but mostly to drain rainwater. Streams of sewage flowed along the street, flooding it with the slops when it rained.

  The Thames was just an open-air sewer; it was common to see corpses floating in it, and the pollution caused by the factories was much worse here than in my hometown. Water was brown-colored, filthy, and smelled horribly. No surprise that very few people dared to drink it, but epidemics of typhus and cholera were common anyway. People preferred beer, tea (water was boiled!), and especially gin. I researched and found out that when I lived in London, the sales of this drink were more than eight thousand. Eight thousand, can you imagine that? Actually, gin street vendors were everywhere and, often, they were children addicted to their product with disastrous effects on their health.

  After a week in such hell, I became a shadow of myself.

  I was emaciated, dirty, smelled like all Londoners, embittered, and scared. The plans that I had for my life vanished only to be replaced by the daily requirement to survive. I often thought of my family and of my mother's disappointment if she had seen me in such a miserable condition, but I didn't know how to escape from my wretched situation. I also tried to get a job, anything, but every attempt had resulted in failure. My English was meager and the masters did not have time to waste with someone who couldn’t even understand the instructions given to him. If only I had listened more carefully during Mr. Winston's lessons...

  One day, during my usual wander in search of a meal, I passed by a coal store. A sign hung on the door: shop boy needed. I stood staring at it for several minutes, uncertain whether I should go in or not; all the refusals I received up to that time had weakened my spirit and I was not sure if I was able to cope with another rejection without making a scene. If I ended up in jail, they would take Zwart away from me, and I knew that I'd be dead without him.

  In the end, I went in with my stomach clenched in uneasiness, trying to slick my dirty and tangled hair and to fix my clothes, which were in pitiful conditions. There was a peculiar little man behind the counter, quite round, with a pair of glasses balanced on the tip of his nose, intent on finishing a massive tome. He wore a long, black apron to protect his clothes and, apart from the blackened nails due to his profession, he looked neat and fresh. His appearance struck me very much, maybe because, for days, all I had seen was nothing but dirt and desolation.

  He looked up and, incredibly, smiled at me, as if there was nothing wrong with the way I looked, or that I could have been an ordinary customer.

  "Yes?" he asked with a kind voice, pulling his spectacles off.

  I had a whole speech prepared but, as it often happened to me when I got agitated, I couldn’t remember a single word. I only pointed to the sign, then to myself, and stammered the word "work" in my native tongue.

  His smile widened as he turned to the back room and shouted, "Ambrosine, there is a young man for the job, can you come here for a minute?"

  The response was immediate and with an equally shrill voice. "I'm coming, dear."

  The little man, meanwhile, had turned his attention to Zwart and me. "Oh, what a beautiful big dog, so dear, just as black as my coal! Come, beautiful, what's your name? "

  Zwart stood up on his hind legs and leaned against the counter, his tail whipping the air with excitement to be caressed. It has been a long time since anyone was kind to him, and this moved me beyond words. I had to bow down my head for a moment in order to hide the tears in my eyes.

  "Just a moment, please. I always make the decision about employment together with my lady. She has an infallible instinct for things like that. So? What's the name of this beautiful dog? And what about its master's?

  "The dog's name is Zwart. My name is Raistan Van Hoeck. I come from the Netherlands."

  "The Netherlands! Interesting, interesting! Ambrosine, we're waiting for you!"

  Finally, the tiny and rounded coalman’s wife made her way from the back room. Under a white bonnet, she had a ruddy face that reminded me so much of Annika, my nurse, causing me a twinge of nostalgia straight from the heart. I liked these people so much, I wanted so badly to work for them...

  "Ambrosine, this is Mr... uhm, I am afraid I didn't get your name, young man, and his wonderful dog, Stuart. He is here for the job! What do you think, dear? He comes from the Netherlands, you know, and he has a surname with that Van that they use up there...

  "Van Hoeck. Raistan Van Hoeck, madam. Honored to meet you." Luckily, I was finally getting back my ability to speak and my good manners: I absolutely had to impress them.

  "Oh, such a well-mannered boy, isn't he, dear Roger?"

  "Yes, yes, he seems very well-mannered to me, too. Please, let us sit in the back room for a while. You look tired. Can we offer you some tea?"

  I was puzzled by all that kindness. To offer candidates such amazing treatment would mean that it had to be a high-level position.

  "Thank you, madam, with pleasure."

  The coalman’s wife, who seemed to go into raptures over my polite answers, led me to the back and pointed to a nice chair. I hesitated: my clothes, as filthy as they were, would have stained anything. "I don't want to soil ..." I objected, as the woman exchanged a pleased and amazed look with her husband.

  "Nonsense, nonsense! The only way to enjoy a good tea is by sitting down with a nice plate of cookies in front you. Do you like cookies, Mr. Van...?”

  Did I like cookies? I was so hungry that I could have even eaten the plate! "Very much, ma'am, thank you."

  My mother often told me I could persuade the devil to give me his pitchfork if I wanted to. So I decided to pull out all my charms to convince these good people to hire me. Good manners really seemed the right way to do it.

  Sitting on the edge of my chair, my knees nearly up to my chin, I accepted the cup of tea, sipped it slowly, and managed not to devour the tiny plate of cookies that appeared on the table in front of us. I took one and gave it a bite, feeling myself fainting from its goodness. Zwart also received a cookie and swallowed it whole, his tail wagging enthusiastically.

  Both my hosts laughed and cheered happily, as if they had just witnessed a circus act.

  "So, Mr... Why don't you tell us something about yourself?"

  I briefly told them my story, but the vocabulary available to me wasn't so extensive. I often got stuck and tried to make them understand the missing words with gestures. They had a good time, it was a kind of a game for them, but the woman was very moved with my heartbreaking family misfortunes that she often reached out to touch my hand as a sign of solidarity. At the end, I kept silent and waited for their verdict. I was hoping that they understood my willingness and my desperate need to earn some pennies.

  "Well, young man, it is time to talk about work” began Mr. Palmer. “Your story has impressed us a lot... didn't it impress us, Ambrosine?"

  His wife nodded spiritedly.

  "It impressed us and we would like to hel
p you. The job consists of delivering coal to the homes of our valued customers every morning and, often, in the afternoons, too. I can’t hide the fact that it is hard work, you get dirty, and you have to keep breathing that damn black powder that has already ruined my lungs; but, in short, the job is yours. You would definitely be able to do it. You are a strong young man. The only thing that puzzles us ... doesn't it puzzles us, Ambrosine?”

  His wife nodded again, but this time with less energy and with a sad look on her face.

  "As I was saying, the thing that puzzles us is the fact that you are a foreigner and, therefore, you may not be familiar with the streets of London. How can you deliver coal on time if you would always get lost or, worse, if you do not have the faintest idea where you have to go?”

  "Mrs. and Mr. Palmer, you should not worry about it! I have a great ...” I wanted to add 'sense of direction', but I had no idea how to say it; in any case, I managed to make myself understood. “You just have to give me the addresses and I will make the deliveries so punctually that I will amaze you. Please, I really need to work and you are the first kind people I have met since I have been in London. I will not disappoint you. Let me try. If I'm not good enough, you can always fire me.”

  I looked at them imploringly that they gave up and shook my hand for confirmation.

  "Right, right, we can try! The wage is five shillings a week. Have you got a place to live?"

  With my heart bursting with happiness, I shook. They seemed happy too and it moved me.

  "So ... we have an empty room just upstairs. It's quite humble, but there is a comfortable bed and a nice fireplace to keep you warm. Maybe it will suit you ... And do not worry about food, we are always alone and would appreciate it if you would join us during meals. What do you say, do we have an agreement? "

  I was moved. Never in my dreams, while I was rummaging in the trash, had I dared to expect so much. I took the woman’s hand and kissed it, making her blush all the way up to the edge of her cap; then, I took a deep bow to the husband who coughed, embarrassed, and touched my shoulder with his hand.

  "Well, well, then it's all settled! All right! Just one more thing ...”

  "Yes," I asked, fearing that he had come up with some other complication; his wife, too, looked at him with apprehension.

  "I have not figured out what your name is, yet. I'll have to call you in some way, by golly! "

  I smiled; I looked around and saw a pile of coal dust behind us. I bent down and wrote my name with my finger.

  "Raistan! Such an interesting name! Isn't it interesting, Ambrosine? So peculiar, of course, a little difficult to pronounce. Will you be offended if we simply call you Ray? "

  I assured them that I would not and, from that day on, my dog and I were Stuart and Ray.

  Ambrosine led me upstairs and showed me my accommodations: it seemed a palace to me and I had to restrain myself from hugging her. I had a place, food, and some money in my pocket. My mother could now start to be proud of me. Before leaving the room, the woman turned again, as if she had overcome some resistance that had been restraining her since our meeting; she took out 2 five-shilling coins from her apron pocket and handed them to me compassionately. "Take them, go buy some clothes. You cannot show up to the homes of our customers in this condition! You may repay us as soon as you can. "

  I hesitated. It was really too much.

  "Come on, take them! When you come back, you will find a nice jug of hot water to wash you. Dinner is at 6 o'clock. Don’t be late."

  I threw myself at her feet, hugging her waist, unable to say a single word. She giggled and squealed with embarrassment, helped me up, and caressed my face: "You're a good boy, I'm never wrong about these things. I know that you will not disappoint us. Now, go, before the shops close! "

  I looked at her for another moment, sensing my face getting red and warm from the excitement, and then dashed out the door, followed by my loyal... Stuart.

  6 - LOSSES AND GAINS

  A.D. 1700

  Seven years had passed since the Palmers put their faith in me and changed my life. I was 23 and didn't know that I just had five more years left as a human.

  After a somewhat chaotic first day of work - going around London in a carriage was real hell - delivering became very natural to me. I seriously possessed an uncanny sense of direction: I only needed to walk a road once not to forget it and I always knew where I was. Customers, at that time, were more or less always the same week after week, and I was capable of performing my tasks with my eyes closed and with such efficiency that the coalman was able to accept new orders and guarantee deliveries on time.

  Sure, it was a tiring job: loading tons of coal in the wagon and then unloading them was not easy, from a physical point of view. The palms of my hands were always full of blisters and my shoulders in pieces, but I did not complain. In addition, I even delivered in posh areas of the city and basked in the tranquility of their surroundings each and every time. It reminded me of my home with beautiful gardens and with well-dressed people who were, nonetheless, somewhat lonely.

  When I returned home in the evenings after putting the horse in the barn and bringing the delivery money, accurate to the last penny, to the coalman, I went up to my room and consistently found the fire burning in the fireplace and a jug of hot water waiting for me. Just like that first day, I washed with care and went down to have dinner with Roger and Ambrosine, telling some funny stories for the sake of simply hearing them laugh. They had a very similar and very contagious laugh, so I laughed too while Zwart enjoyed some tasty morsels from his position under the table.

  These were years of great happiness, and I pine for them profoundly.

  Roger had subsequently also started to teach me bookkeeping and I was entrusted with more and more important tasks. His health, however, worsened with the passing of time; coal dust was really eating up his lungs, one piece at a time. He had horrible coughing fits, which left him exhausted; in the handkerchief that he often took to his mouth I could see blood stains. He never complained and he tried to minimize his discomfort as he saw Ambrosine’s and my worried glances; we didn't talk about his condition but we both knew that he was suffering. I did everything to lighten his load: I dealt with vendors, accompanied him to visit new ones, and, in recent years, even replaced him in the store when he was too weak to come downstairs.

  On Christmas morning of 1700, I got up and found them both awake. Roger seemed to be on one of his good days and I felt happy about it: unfortunately, his good days got even more and more rare. They greeted me cheerfully, but suddenly their expression changed. "I'm afraid we forgot to get you a present, Ray... will you forgive two old silly fools?"

  I felt a bit disappointed but I didn't show it; in any event, it was odd because it had never happened before, not even during the first year when I had been with them for just two months.

  "There's a problem with the sign, outside: Could you please take care of it? The wind could blow it away..."

  "All right" I said.

  I put on my jacket and went outside followed by them. When I looked up, I stood with my mouth wide open, speechless with surprise. There was a new sign over the door of the shop, and it read:

  PALMER & VAN HOECK, CHARCOAL SINCE 1648.

  "Merry Christmas, dear Ray, and thanks for everything you have done for us during all these years. It seemed the least we could do for you have always behaved like a son to us. "

  Ashamed to say it, but your vampire began to cry like a baby. Were they actually thanking me? Them, without whom I would have probably died of starvation after only a few weeks in London? I shook my head, unable to speak, and then hugged them both. I had continued to grow during those years and my height finally stabilized at a towering six-foot seven; work had made me a lot sturdier. Anyone who passed along the street in front of us could have had the illusion of seeing a man embracing two chubby children. Nevertheless, we spent a wonderful Christmas together as we disguised our great sadness tha
t it was going to be Roger’s last one; but, of course, we didn't talk about it. Each time I looked at Ambrosine, however, I saw her staring at her husband with tears in her eyes, which occasionally dried on her apron. I tried to keep spirits up by telling many funny incidents about Zwart, or me, and I was glad to see them laughing again as they used to.

  "Now it's time for you to find a wife, Ray! How is it possible that a handsome boy like you doesn’t have a line of sweethearts?

  Ambrosine raised this issue more or less every couple of days. She encouraged me to go out and sent me to make deliveries to homes where she knew girls lived, although we had now hired another boy to do the job I had once done. It became her mission and she would not rest until she had seen me up on the altar.

  "Leave him alone, Ambrosine, the boy's young, he wants to have some fun! Now that he has a steady position, he'll be able to think about that, but give him some time!

  "Time... He's 23; we were already married at his age!"

  "Never mind Ray, she's obsessed!"

  I laughed and tried to change the subject to a less risky one. On the other hand, in recent months, there was a particular delivery that I tried never to miss: it was to a schoolteacher, Mr. Compton, father of a beautiful girl named Kristen who was a little younger than I. She didn’t seem to dislike my appearance, as she made sure to be around each time I arrived with the carriage. I hadn't said anything about the matter to the Palmers yet because they would have driven me crazy; but I waited anxiously for every Tuesday, the day they usually received their weekly delivery of coal.