Rain steam and speed, p.16
Rain, Steam and Speed, page 16
“Hello, Floyd. This must be Owen?” she greeted them. “Come in.”
They went in and a man, also in his sixties, stood up, holding out his hand.
“I’m Ike and this, here, is Thelma.”
“I’m Owen,” he said, shaking Ike’s hand and offering his hand to Thelma, which she squeezed, warmly.
“Tea? Coffee?” she asked, looking at Owen, who looked across at Floyd, who nodded.
“Coffee would be great. Thank you.”
“Sit yourselves down. Cake?”
“Yes please,” Floyd jumped in, before Owen had a chance to respond.
“So, Owen,” started Ike, “Floyd, here, tells me you’ve just moved to Amsterdam and are looking for a houseboat.”
“Something like that,” laughed Owen. “I have just arrived in Amsterdam, and already started a job. I asked Floyd and Sally about accommodation, although, yes, I did mention it would be nice to know what it would cost to live on a houseboat and if they knew of any cheap, watertight vacant boats.”
“We have spent the last few months trying to decide what to do with our houseboat, when we go to the States, so you are an answer to prayer for us, Owen. If you can look after the place, not throw any wild parties, and not smoke on the premises, you are more than welcome to stay here, rent-free, and look after it. Just pay for electricity and the gas cylinder when it gets empty. It would be a huge wait off our minds, really, as we’ll be gone a year.”
“I don’t know much about prayer, but I guess you must be my answer to an unvoiced prayer. This is very kind of you.”
Owen was not paying lip-service or mocking. He was genuinely curious about the way Ike and Thelma saw the timing and provision as an answer to something they had asked God for. He was already impressed with Floyd and Sally’s welcome and hospitality. He did not pray, ever, but he could quite see how, if he had asked this God-person for a place to live, being introduced to Ike and Thelma might be construed as an affirmative answer. Whatever it was, he was more than happy to accept their invitation.
“Well then, if you are going to look after our houseboat while we’re away,” added Thelma, “would you like to move out of the hostel and into the spare room, aft, there, until we leave?”
“As long as I won’t be getting under your feet, I accept. Thank you, again.”
“You’d better go and get your things. I’ll write down the address for you and draw a little map. How much luggage do you have?”
“A holdall and a small suitcase.”
“Ah. Ike will give you both a lift, in the car, and bring you back. Any other time, there’s a bicycle you can use.”
“Amazing. I’ve been hiring a bicycle this last week. Thanks.”
“Now. Let’s eat our cake and drink our coffee.”
Owen had never eaten anything like it before, but what Thelma placed in front of him was mouth-watering. It was crumbly, nutty, fudgy, biscuity and cakey, all at the same time.
“This is incredible!” announced Owen, after his third mouthful.
When the last crumbs had been picked off their plates, and their coffee mugs were empty, Ike stood up.
“Right. Let’s go get your luggage.”
“I have no idea where I am. Floyd will have to direct you.”
“Got a pretty good idea where I’m going.”
“My holdall is at the hostel, but my suitcase is in a locker at the station.”
“Not a problem. I might well call in on Sally, while you fetch your belongings. You can meet us at Floyd and Sally’s houseboat. I’ll park at the station.”
“Perfect.”
“Do you like Amsterdam, then, Owen?”
“I love it. It’s chilled and peaceful and pretty. And up to now, I’ve received a warm welcome everywhere.”
“That’s what we like to hear, isn’t it, Floyd.”
“It is, indeed.”
Ike parked at the station and went with Floyd, whilst Owen went to the hostel to pick up his holdall and tell them he no longer required the room.
“The policy is that you still have to pay, I’m afraid, as there’s no guarantee we can now fill the vacancy.”
“Absolutely not a problem.”
He unlocked his new locker, took out the holdall, checked under the duvet and under the bunk, and went to reception to hand in his key.
“Goodbye and good luck!”
“Thank you.”
Owen slung the holdall over his shoulder and walked the short distance to the station, to retrieve his suitcase from the locker. The suitcase was quite light, although he did swap hands several times between the locker and the houseboat.
“Hi Sally,” he greeted her, as he entered.
“Hi, Owen. Come by anytime for soup or coffee and cake. You know where we are.”
“I will.”
“We’ll say our proper goodbyes when you leave,” Sally informed Ike.
“Absolutely. See you next Sunday.”
“Yes. Love to Thelma.”
“Come on, then, Owen. Let’s go.”
“Thank you, so much, Floyd, Sally. Really appreciate it.”
“Take care, Owen,” responded Sally.
Floyd nodded.
“Here, let me carry the case,” insisted Ike.
Owen handed it to him. They got into the car and Ike set off.
“I’m afraid we can’t leave the car with you. That’s going to be taken care of by some friends who live in Leiden. They will meet us at the airport and take the car away, when we eventually go.
“No problem. First, you’ve been more than generous. Second, I can’t drive. I had a motorbike, but I can’t drive a car. Not yet, anyway.”
“Can’t drive a car?”
“No. My parents didn’t have one, so I got the motorbike, and then didn’t need a car.”
“What do your parents do? Where do they live?” Do you have sisters and brothers?”
“I’m not going to lie. It all went wrong. I left home at eighteen and I haven’t been back in touch. And, yes, I have a younger sister.”
“I see. Maybe, one day, eh?”
There was a brief uncomfortable silence. Uncomfortable for Owen, not Ike, who came across many troubled young people in Amsterdam, as did Floyd and Sally.
“What sort of motorbike?”
“A 250cc Honda.”
“Nice. Our eldest has a Honda Goldwing. He rode all the way across the old Route 66 last summer.”
“That’s something I’d love to do. Where do you live, in the states?”
“The family home is in Vermont, but we’ve lived all over the place. Our eldest, Henry, lives in Chicago, with his wife and two grandchildren. Our next eldest, Susan, lives in Pittsburgh, with her husband. Our youngest, Georgia, is divorced and lives in Santa Monica, with our other two grandchildren, half of the time, when they’re not with their father.”
They pulled up outside the houseboat and got out. Ike took the holdall and suitcase from the boot of the car and carried them both into the houseboat.
“Beer?” offered Thelma.
“Thank you. Yes.”
“I’ll show you to your room, Owen,” added Ike, before he had even let go of Owen’s luggage.
Owen followed him.
“There’s an en-suite. It’s tiny, but it’s yours. Join us when you’ve sorted yourself out.”
“Thanks.”
Ike went back into the main living area and Owen used the en-suite. Fifteen minutes later, he came out of his room, to find Ike holding a bottle of beer in each hand. Thelma was laying the table.
“I hope you eat brisket?” she announced.
“Definitely. Can I do anything to help?”
Owen knew it was unlikely, but he asked anyway, to try and be polite and appreciative.
“No thank you. The meal will take another twenty minutes or so. Now, relax and tell me about yourself.”
“There’s not a lot to tell. I’m trying to escape the past and make a fresh start.”
“And what was so bad about the past that you need to escape it.”
“I left home because I got expelled. I went to university but dropped out. I had a dog that died. He was my best friend,” Owen summarised his past, and paused, “And I got involved with a bad bunch of people who might hurt me if they ever found me.”
“Parents have a lot of room in their hearts, Owen. Whatever you did, I’m sure it wasn’t so bad that your mum and dad couldn’t put it behind you.”
“It’s complicated. They made a lot of sacrifices for me to get a good education and I ruined it. I was ashamed. But it wasn’t just that. I just felt that my whole life had been about living their dreams. No one ever asked me what I wanted to do.”
“What do you want to do?”
“That’s just it. I have no idea. I don’t really know who I am and what I’m passionate about because I’ve always been filling my time with the things I was expected to do. During the time I lived in London, I discovered I loved a dog. A rescue dog. I worked in a pub because it was a job, the first opportunity I had. In the end, the shifts worked around university and owning a dog. At university, I discovered I don’t like old literature and history, that I enjoyed literature that spoke up for the disadvantaged in society, and also, that I might have a knack for picking up languages. Before I quit university, I started to learn Dutch. And here I am. Working in a café, because I asked if the waiter knew anywhere that was looking for staff and he gave me a job.”
“We have three children. They’re all grown up now. Parents hope for the best for their children. They don’t always see beyond their own world, beyond their own values and priorities. I’m sure your mum and dad just wanted you to achieve your potential, and they did what they thought would make that possible.”
“I guess. I just want to find my own path in life before I go back.”
“Don’t leave it too long, Owen, believe me,” commented Ike, after sitting quietly while Thelma was speaking. “Sometimes, we wonder whether our decisions had a negative impact on our children.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, I’m a pastor. Thelma and I have lived in several different states and also two different countries. Sometimes we moved when our children had built friendships or settled in a school. It was hard for them. We felt the call of God was a priority. Hindsight can be a stick to beat ourselves up with, or a springboard to growth as a human being.”
After a short silence, Owen asked, “Which countries have you lived in?”
“Paraguay and here.”
“What did you do in Paraguay?”
“As a pastor, I went to teach and develop local church leaders.”
“And is that what you do here?”
“No. We have different role here. We actually came here to support Floyd and Sally’s work. Our eldest, Henry, reacted badly to the rootlessness of being moved around the world. He got hooked on drugs, and we supported him through rehab. When we heard about Floyd and Sally’s work with drug addicts we asked if there was anything we could do, and they invited us to come and be ‘houseparents’ to young adults who want to go through withdrawal.”
“Houseparents, like the tutors in a house at school?”
“Maybe. Is that what it was like at your school?”
“Not as a couple. It was an all-boys school and there was a head of house who looked out for the pupils in his house. But it wasn’t like being invited into a home, like this. Like Floyd and Sally’s houseboat. There was a lady I worked with in London, old enough to be my mum. She invited me round for meals with her husband and son and looked out for me.”
“I think Floyd told you about the room at the hostel. No?” asked Ike.
“Yes.”
“We have spent many hours in that room with people going through ‘cold turkey’. It’s not just the physical pain. It’s helping them to deal with the emotional pain. With the reasons they started to take the drugs in the first place. And then providing practical support, so they can start out again, breaking from the drugs scene.”
Owen nodded but said nothing.
“When did you start taking drugs, Owen?” asked Thelma.
The question threw Owen. Firstly, how did they know? But more importantly, if they knew, why had they asked him to look after their houseboat for the year? He did not want to lie but he was embarrassed.
“It started out as cannabis. I tried mushrooms but didn’t like it. In fact, I know someone who broke their back, thinking they could fly off the stairs. When I moved to London and got Kochai, my Afghan Hound, I never wanted to use drugs at all. Not even cannabis. But then I met a girl on my course. She was Russian. She invited me to a secret club with a steam bath and somehow, she got me using heroin, first through a pipe, and then through injecting it. By the time I realised what was happening, it was too late. The people had a hold over me. To be honest, I feared for my life. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to leave my dog. I didn’t know if they were watching me. They knew where I lived. Then there was the car incident, when I lost Kochai, and I just decided to leave the country. It wasn’t the first time I’d been here. I like it here. So, one day, I just left.”
“And you’re still using,” confirmed Ike.
“Yes. Just like when I was in London, if I keep the dose regular and low, I can live a normal life, with a job.”
“Owen, we are still going to let you live here,” responded Ike. “In fact, we suspected you might be using. You get to know these things, when you spend as much time as we have, with drug addicts. We will be here for the next three weeks. If you want to take this opportunity to come off the drugs, we will be happy to support you.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. We can time the initial withdrawal with the days when you aren’t at work, so hopefully, you won’t have to miss a shift,” Ike encouraged him.
“You’ll have to be completely straight with us. You’ll have to give us your gear. All your heroin,” stated Thelma.
“Part of me wants to say I’ll think about it. The other part knows it would be easy to talk myself out of it,” responded Owen, after a brief pause.
“When is your next fix due?” asked Thelma.
“Tuesday.”
“And when are you working this week?” she continued.
“Thursday, Friday and Sunday.”
“If you go ahead with this,” interrupted Ike, “the first few days may feel like hell. Nausea, vomiting, diarrhoea, cramps, sweating, aches, anxiety. It’ll be like a bad case of the flu. Day three is often the worst. On the other hand, it’s also quite possible, from what you have told us about your pattern of heroin use that you are non-dependent. We won’t really know how dependent you are, until you stop taking it. One of us will stay with you at all times, whilst you’re going through withdrawal.”
“So, if my body, or my brain, thinks it needs heroin on Tuesday, that means that if I don’t have a fix, my body will then go into withdrawal, and I need to be at work on Thursday. This is going to sound really stupid, but should I inject today and next Sunday, for the last time, so that by the time the following Sunday comes around, and my body and brain need the drug, if I don’t feed the addiction, I’ve got Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday to go through withdrawal?”
“That’s not stupid at all,” responded Ike, “although I would suggest you still give us your gear, and we can control the timing and use.”
“Think about it over dinner,” suggested Thelma. “You have to want to do it.”
“I will.”
“Excellent. Now let’s eat.”
“I know you’ll make the right decision, Owen,” added Ike.
He gestured to Owen, to sit down, while Thelma switched off the cooker. She drained the water from some carrots into a gravy-jug and stirred it rapidly for a few seconds. The brisket had been sitting on the counter while they chatted. It was in a casserole dish, along with some potatoes. She removed the meat and carved some slices, plating up the meat potatoes and carrots.
“Would you like sauce?”
“Please.”
She poured some sauce over each plate and carried Ike’s and Owen’s to the table, before going back for her own. Owen sensed he should wait.
“Loving Father. Thank you for bringing Owen to us and thank you for this food. Amen.”
Thelma repeated the Amen and Owen found himself agreeing, also.
“Tuck in, then,” Thelma invited Owen.
It was a delicious meal. Simple, but prepared with care and eaten with welcoming hearts. Owen felt at home, which was something that did not come easily to him. Sometimes, he knew he was too trusting. His recent experiences, in London and at the hostel, demonstrated as much. Floyd and Sally, Ike and Thelma, seemed different. He could not quite put his finger on why, but their hospitality and vulnerability made him feel like he could trust them. True, he had thought he could trust Katya and the hospitality afforded him at the ‘banya’ but in hindsight, they wanted him to do things which were not any good for him. Ike and Thelma seemed to want what was best for him.
“We have banoffee pie, for dessert. Thelma makes awesome desserts.”
“The brisket was awesome too,” added Owen.
“Thank you,” answered Thelma, piling the plates up and taking them to the sink.
She took the banoffee pie from the fridge and put it on the table, going back for the dishes and spoons. The one serving spoon had been used for the first course, so she served each person with the dessert spoon they would use. Owen savoured his first mouthful. Of all the cakes he had been treated to in Amsterdam, this was the best dessert he had tasted. There were a million and one rational arguments he could have used, to make his decision, but the moment he swallowed the first mouthful of banoffee pie, he knew he wanted to stop being a heroin addict.
“Can I help with the washing up?” asked Owen, at the end of the meal.
“Thank you. I’ll wash, you dry,” replied Ike.
They got up and Ike filled the tiny sink with hot water. Everything in the houseboat was slightly diminutive, a bit like the caravan he stayed in near Dartmoor, with Mason Somersby and his family. The cooker functioned like a normal cooker but had only two rings and a tiny oven. It was powered by a large Calor gas cylinder. There was only a small amount of cupboard space. He was glad only to be five feet nine inches tall, because he did not have to duck. The bed was full length but narrow. The settee was built into the side of the boat. The chairs were full-size, but the table was only three feet by two feet. Owen thought it would be interesting living here.
