Novak lives on the corner

TODAY I decided it was time to find out more about Novak. He was standing in the sun on the corner of 14th Street and First Avenue just across from the new post office, where I was headed. He was clean-shaven and seemingly sober, maybe in his early 50s. He moved his upper body without difficulty and but for his filthy trousers, he seemed almost salvageable from the street. He had acquired a clean shirt, and from the waist up looked normal. But still, as he stood leaning on his wheelchair, it was clear that there was no turning back for him.

‘Hi, I met you before a long time ago, how are you?’

He raised his eyebrow and, with a glint in his eye shoved forward his begging hand. I ignored it.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Novak’, he shouted, ‘Vat’s your nem?’

‘Pierce’

He squinted his eyes.

‘Beers?’

‘Yes. Where are you from?’ ‘I from Poll-land. Where you from?’

‘Ireland’

‘Eyer-Land.’

He seemed to find that a little amusing, his curiosity was awakening, you could tell that he wasn’t used to talking to the customers. I continued to disarm him.

‘When did you come to America?’

‘I coms, durty years ago.’ He was smiling now and shouting a little aggressively, he wasn’t sure he wanted to behave normal.

‘What did you work at when you came here first?’

‘Clubs, I work in clubs. Eight hours, I was earn, one undred and pifty dollah for eight hours.’.

I was pleased to hear him say this, he was acknowledging that he had a life before he fell. Before he had always tried to project an arrogance. He didn’t owe anybody anything. Now he was dropping his guard.

‘Where did you live?’

‘I liff, just liff ’

He pulled down the neck of his blue shirt to show me his shoulder.

‘It’s mettle, I have mettle ere, and down here.’.

He shows me his hip.

‘I have metell havery-veer. Whatever you do, don’t sleep over deere.’.

He was pointing across the way up towards 14th Street, with the nod of his head.

‘What do you mean?’

He pulled down his lip.

‘They kutt me. Here and here.’ He pointed inside his mouth and at a swollen gash on his forehead, his face was so weathered and scarred, it was impossible to see any difference between his newly acquired complaint and the ones of yesterday.

‘Don’t sleep in dat park behind dat, they will beata you up and robb you.’.

He was talking about the small park behind Beth Israel Hospital, a tiny sanctuary of green grass and ivy, shaded by trees. I needn’t tell ye, I had no intention of ever sleeping there. But I liked the fact that we were now trading street secrets.

‘I sometimes would dake One Undred and Pifty dollahs, but den my moddah got seek, I send all my money back to Poll-Land, she get seek.’

‘Oh that’s a shame, so you had to look after her from here?’

‘Yes, she got seek, ever-ting vent, I lose my job.’ I had a dollar in my hand to give him.

‘I am a musician Novak, not rich.’. ‘I used to play dee accordian.’. ‘Really? Which one – button or piano?’

‘I donna know.’ ‘Iss impossible, you need two brains, one for each side’, he demonstrated with his hands.

‘But the brain has two sides.’ ‘No, only one brain, impossible.’. He took the dollar bill and seemed grateful.

‘You got a cigarette?’

‘Don’t tell me you smoke as well as drink’, I joked.

He smiled with devilment and hit the next guy for a fag, like he was owed.

He pointed inside his mouth and at a swollen gash on his forehead, his face was so weathered and scarred