New York – I just got outa jail

‘IJUST got outa jail man, I can’t deal with the people in that Mosque anymore. It’s the Africans that are the problem, the Arabs are fine though. I’m looking for something to eat now.’ ‘What were you in jail for?’ ‘I told them that I was going to blow the place up and the shoot the whole lot of them, so they called the police. The Judge told me that he better not see me in there again, or he’ll throw away the key.’

‘You need to stop drinking again man, you were doing really well when you were selling incense on the corner. The Muslim religion was good for you, you should go back to it.’

‘Yeah you’re right, thank you man. I can’t go there no more though.’

‘Just go to another Mosque.’ ‘Yeah you’re right man. Hey even five dollars would help right now.’

He had gone downhill since I had seen him last. A strong African American with a well-balanced physique, he had always oozed cleanliness of spirit and body. Every day he would lift the pavement gate in front of the mosque, and carry up his supply of incense with a folding display table.

To draw attention he would burn a full pack of sticks and the waft of myrrh would blow down along First Avenue through a thousand faces. On more than one occasion he asked me to stand in for him while he went to the toilet, once taking the best part of fifteen minutes,

I had to talk a customer into waiting for him. I was suspicious that he used me to take a break. But who could blame him, it was a long day and it didn’t seem like he was making much money.

Back then he was free of all substance abuse, he didn’t have to tell you, it was written on his shiny skin, and in his spotless white crocheted skull cap. Now he was using a cane and his dulled skin told a different story. The whites of his eyes were grey and a tuft of white padding showed through one of the shoulders of his black faux leather coat. He didn’t appear homeless, but in truth, I was never sure that he had a home. With hindsight, I’m inclined to think that he might have been saved by the Muslim faith; maybe he had even found it while he was in prison from a previous life.

While he ran his stand on the corner, he was clearly a religious zealot.

‘I know your woman don’t like me, but I got no business talking to your woman, she need to understand that.’

Clare was peeved, she was reaching out to him, he just blanked her.

I explained to him that he was standing on our corner for eight hours a day, and that it was very uncomfortable for my wife to pass him by. He was snubbing her.

‘I undertstan, I understan, but I ain’t got no business talking to your woman.’

‘But she is having to cross the street to avoid you man, I know you mean no harm, but it’s too much.’

He shook my hand.

‘I’m sorry man, I don mean no harm, these are my beliefs.’

Sometimes he would clock me crossing the street to avoid him. He was omnipresent and annoyingly self righteous.

But now I know that those beliefs held him together. He was hanging on to a rigid world within the safety zone of those rules.

Without them he is lost, adrift without a compass.

I was suspicious that he used me to take a break. But who could blame him, it was a long day and it didn’t seem like he was making much money